#stillyourprussianblue

“You want me to come with you?” Ryohei repeated for the second time. “And… see the sights?

Hana stood in front of him, arms crossed firmly across her chest, face reddening even more as she refused to break eye contact. “Well, if you’re heading in the same direction anyway, some extra security for the –ahh, documents wouldn’t hurt.”

Her foot was tapping rapidly, her fingers tightening where they gripped her forearms, and her face was heating up to match his.

Oh? He reached up to pat his face. It was so warm. Why was it so warm??

Overall, it was a very confusing experience for him, which was why he recounted the whole conversation to Yamamoto in hushed tones as they loaded clips for Yamamoto’s next mission.

“So you agreed to go?” he asked when Ryohei finished his story, adjusting the dim lamp over their heads.

Ryohei placed a full clip atop the growing pile on the poker table between them. “Of course! She said those files were really important and needed the extra security.” That part made sense to him, but there was something he just didn’t understand. Hana was absolutely killer and cutthroat when it came to her position as legal counsel to the Vongola. Her earlier mannerisms were unlike her usual demeanour.

 “Those must be some important documents then,” Yamamoto mused, rocking back and forth in his chair. He watched Ryohei pick at some fluff on the dealer side of the table. “Maybe they’re something Tsuna’s thinking of using against the Mercanti family.”

Ryohei’s palm slammed into the tabletop. “That’s it!”

Yamamoto blinked in surprise and stopped rocking back and forth, leaning forward to listen before his chair tipped over.

“That makes more sense!” Ryohei continued. “She must be really worried about the Mercanti interfering with her job this time and was too embarrassed to ask anyone else for help. Maybe she’d feel better with a full security detail.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Yamamoto commented as Ryohei hemmed and hawed more to himself than anyone else. “But if she wanted a full security escort, wouldn’t she have just asked Tsuna?”

Settling back into his seat, Ryohei seemed to consider it for a moment. “That’s true. It’s best to head straight to the destination with a few bodyguards; it’s less risk.” He nodded in agreement with himself, pleased as punch that he had figured it out. Hana often spoke cryptically, but he was starting to catch on.

Yamamoto handed him an empty clip. “You were headed west right?” Seeing Ryohei nod, he smiled. “My next assignment will take me in that direction so I can come partway with you. I’ll help you out!”

“Thanks man!” Ryohei stopped as he realized they had created a small mountain between them. “Why do you need this much ammo anyway?”

Yamamoto smiled and replied easily: “Just catching some rats. Big ones.”

And that was that.

It was all figured out until later that week when Gokudera clapped him on the shoulder and wished him safe travels and a nice vacation. He must have been joking, that Gokudera and his sarcasm. Ryohei didn’t have too much time to ponder his words as Hana appeared from around the corner, her luggage clunking along over the cobbles of the path.

The question died on his lips as the flowers on her dress swished around her calves, swirled around her body. Her sunhat flipped in the breeze and she pulled it from her head to keep it from flying away, pressing the lip to her heart to pin it in place. The soft waves of her hair spilled from the hat and fell to her shoulders, stray strands blowing around her face.

“Good morning,” Gokudera said, elbowing him in the ribs as he realized the man next to him was absolutely gobsmacked and hadn’t heard Hana’s greeting.

Ryohei stammered what he supposed was a hello. He cleared his throat and then offered a hand out to take her luggage.

“Come to see us off, Gokudera?” she asked as Ryohei popped the trunk of the town car to find a spot for her case. He placed it inside gingerly, wondering if all of her belongings were in there along with the court documents.

“Yeah, I had to make sure this idiot remembered where the safe houses along the route were in case of emergency.”

“We won’t need them!” Ryohei yelled as he let the trunk drop. “We’ll be safe.”

Hana’s cheeks turned pink at his sure declaration. “Just in case,” she repeated.

Gokudera rolled his eyes behind her back as he pushed off from his position leaning against the car and opened the door for her. He bit back a snipe about her contrarian habits, not wanting to get into it when they were so close to getting out of his hair.

“You should sit in the back,” Ryohei said as he watched her get into the passenger seat. “It’s safer.”

Hana fixed him with a withering look. “I’ll take my chances.”

Gokudera almost snickered as he closed the door behind her. “Well then,” he said, giving a curt nod to Hana. In a rare moment of civility between the two, Hana smiled at him. “Enjoy your vacation.”

And there it was again! But before Ryohei could call after him, Tsuna’s right hand hurried back into the manor to avoid letting a snarky comment slip, or god forbid, having to accept any hugs goodbye.

Shaking off the feeling that something was slightly amiss, Ryohei got into the driver’s seat.

He didn’t know if he should look at her or not so he peered at her from the corner of his eye, only seeing the edge of her sunhat in her lap and her forearm resting lightly on the armrest between them, casually within reach.

“Is that all your luggage!” he asked abruptly, looking around for nothing in particular, finding the skyline suddenly very interesting.

Hana made a face, but he didn’t see. “Why ask after you put it in the trunk?” She fidgeted with the brim of her hat with one hand, leaving her other hand very obviously on the armrest. Calming her nerves while she waited for him to get the hint, she softened her voice to come up with a nicer response. “We’ll only be on the road for two days before we arrive at the coast if we leave soon –one day to get us out of this desert and into the mountains, and by tomorrow evening we should be by the seaside.”

His hand inched closer to hers before it went to start the car. This time she tried not to make a face. Even if he misread her intentions, even if he wasn’t getting her hints, they still had time.

She looked up sharply when Ryohei rolled down the window. “Oi! Yamamoto!” he called.

Yamamoto let one of his suspiciously inconspicuous duffle bags slide up to his shoulder so he could wave enthusiastically at them with his full arm.

 “Oh absolutely not,” Hana said, whipping her head around to glare at Ryohei for some sort of explanation.

Yamamoto patted the trunk until Ryohei popped it open for him.

“He’s here for added security,” Ryohei explained, wondering why his voice took on a helpless tone, and was that a plaintive edge?

“Hi Hana!” Yamamoto greeted as he all but fell into the backseat like a goofy dog. She greeted him tersely in response, sinking in her seat as the realization settled in and she began to accept this new reality.

“He’s coming part of the way with us,” Ryohei went on, confirming her fears.

“You won’t even know I’m here!” Yamamoto said cheerily as he settled in, knees knocking against the backs of their seats.

Hana sunk lower in her seat, sunhat crumpled to her chest. “Wonderful.”

___

She tried to make the best of it. She really did. But their hours of nonstop karaoke, insistence at stopping for every desert roadside attraction for group photos, and in-seat gymnastics as Yamamoto and Ryohei took turns trying to feed each other snacks, all while Ryohei was driving, was wearing her down.

Coming to their first stop that night, just within the mountain range, they came before the fourth of their trials.

“Well,” Hana said as they exited the vehicle at the motel. Yamamoto smoothly intercepted her before she tried to lift a duffle bag from the trunk. She pulled her own rolling luggage case from the back and looked between the two men. “I had only booked one room,” she said pointedly, letting it hang awkwardly between them.

“Ahh…” Yamamoto seemed to get the hint, and Hana was buoyed by his remark. “I got another room next door, so no worries about any danger. If you feel unsafe, I’ll be nearby!”

Hana almost sighed at the proximity but decided she could live with the compromise when the alternative meant that the three of them would be sharing a room. As Yamamoto went ahead to scan the area for threats, she turned slowly to Ryohei. “Um, so I was thinking we could discuss our sleeping arrangements.”

But he had his back to her, bag slung over his shoulder, watching as the dark-haired man flipped them a quick thumbs up. He locked the car as Yamamoto waved them over. Sensibly keeping quiet, Hana followed as they hurried across the dim-lit parking lot. Just when Hana thought there was nothing else that could shock or disappoint her further today, she watched, dumbfounded, as Ryohei and Yamamoto both entered the suite next to hers.

She stared at Ryohei’s back and then Yamamoto’s clueless smile before throwing her hands in the air and kicking the door shut behind her.

“Uhh…senpai?” Yamamoto called, following Ryohei into the room. “Do you want to check on her? I think she might be upset…”

He paused as he realized the shower in their room was running and he peered in carefully to see Ryohei leaning over with his palms against the shower wall, letting the cold water splash over his head, fully clothed. “Senpai…?”

Ryohei stared wide-eyed down at the tiles and the water swirling into the drain. He had spent hours using Yamamoto as a human shield between Hana and himself, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about her, what with her being so close to him. He felt like a creep just thinking about the subtle scent of her perfume and how it was everywhere while the wind from the open window fanned out her hair. So he had shouted the lyrics to some folk song with Yamamoto to drown out the thoughts.

His palms had been sweaty as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, seeing how her hand rested so close to him on the armrest, so he asked Yamamoto feed him beef jerky and gas station slushies until he felt like he would burst. Better his stomach than his heart, though it felt like it would escape his ribcage regardless.

But the way that she had looked at him when she had said those words –sleeping arrangements! There was no way he could just enter a woman’s room just like that! There was probably only one bed! His thoughts devolved into red-faced spluttering and he pounded the shower wall with one fist while his other hand spun the knob to make the water colder.

Yamamoto didn’t know what to make of this and figured that Ryohei was going through something existential. So he left a towel and bathrobe within reach and backed away. When Ryohei still didn’t appear after an hour, and the sound of running water never stopped, Yamamoto knew he needed to get a move on. Gathering his effects from the duffle bags, he made sure that along with the gloves and firearms he also had his motel room keycard. Time for the rain guardian to go to work.

___

Under the cover of the night, he finished his assignment and brought back the proof of completion, hefting it into the trunk of the car, careful not to get any blood or prints on the exterior.

Yamamoto returned to the room in small hours of the morning, but he wasn’t the only one who had been busy that night. The rising of the sun brought Hana’s reinforcements. Kyoko and Haru had set out from the makeshift Vongola base of operations as soon as Hana started sharing live updates on her disaster of a date somewhere after the giant desert lobster mini golf selfies but before the trio had run out of fruit snacks.

To stop her brother from making the biggest mistake of his love life, Kyoko was willing to drive through the night and Haru was willing to run point for her. Their mission: to kidnap the third wheel.

They nabbed him in broad daylight, just as they were exiting their rooms in the morning. There was a moment of understanding that passed between them when Hana looked between Kyoko and Haru as they raced towards the motel rooms. Kyoko smiled as relief flashed across Hana’s face just as they crashed into Yamamoto’s side in their best attempt to tackle him.

“Sasagawa? Haru?” Haru wondered how he could possibly be an assassin with that dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Sorry everyone, but something urgent has come up for Yamamoto-kun!” Kyoko called over her shoulder to her brother and best friend as she and Haru each took one of Yamamoto’s arms and hauled him towards the car they had brought for the chase. Hana took the moment of confusion to grab Ryohei’s hand and pull him towards the car they had been driving, and threw his and her luggage in the backseat that Yamamoto would no longer be occupying.

“What – hey, hold on! Kyoko?” Ryohei exclaimed as Hana pushed him into the driver’s seat.

“No problem, safe travels, thank you for helping him!” Hana yelled as she watched the two of them all but manhandle him into the back of their car headfirst.

She let out the breath she had been holding when the other car pulled out of the parking lot.

“We should help, too!” Ryohei decided, starting the car. “What if something’s happened to old man Yamamoto?”

Hana waved her hands quickly. “No, it’s nothing like that!”

He paused, ready to zoom after them. “Then what’s happened?”

Thinking quickly, Hana blurted out: “There was a complication with Yamamoto’s assignment.”

She could see the gears turning in his head. “Ahh, so Kyoko was making sure we still made it to our destination.

Hana nodded vigorously. “I made dinner reservations so we definitely can’t be late.”

“And we can get your documents to court in time,” he reminded. “You should treat them carefully.” He eyed the haphazard way the luggage was thrown onto the backseat.

“Yes! Of course!” Hana said, knowing full well that there were never any such documents in her case. Ryohei made a mental note to store them properly in the trunk for her when they reached their next stop.

“Ready?” he asked.

“DRIVE.”

___

At a diner off the freeway back east, Haru put her head in her hands as Kyoko lectured Yamamoto on the subtleties of dating. Kyoko’s waffles grew cold as she rattled off Yamamoto’s third-wheeling offenses. He inhaled bacon and eggs as he confirmed each and every item on the list, carefree and true to form.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense? What were you doing there?” Kyoko asked as Haru picked up her coffee cup.

“Hana said she needed to take some important documents cross country and we thought it would be more secure this way,” he replied between bites.

“And she invited you?” Haru asked, almost incredulous. He didn’t understand her tone, but shook his head as he swallowed his mouthful of pancakes.

Kyoko put her hand over her mouth as she gasped. “My brother invited you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah! It was just more efficient this way.”

“Efficient?” she repeated.

“Well I had some errands to run on the way.” Yamamoto laughed sheepishly in a way that made Haru hold off on that sip of her latte.

“And?” Haru asked.

“I was dealing someone that crossed Tsuna.”

Kyoko looked aghast at the casual mention, but Haru put her cup back down on the saucer. She almost daren’t ask. “And?”

“I hadn’t finished the job yet when you showed up.”

“AND?”

Kyoko surreptitiously waved the waiter over. “We’ll take all of our food to go.”

Hundreds of miles away at a rest stop, Ryohei was moving luggage from the backseat to the trunk while Hana popped into the rest stop to grab more snacks for the road. Opening the trunk, he stared down at the bloodied body wrapped in a tarp for a heartbeat. He waited a heartbeat. The corpse did too. Or it didn’t. He wasn’t sure. He let the trunk slam shut.

___

The sun guardian was clear on two things: he needed to get rid of the body, but he had to get to the fancy dinner reservations that Hana had made for them.

Calling Yamamoto didn’t work. What he didn’t know was that Kyoko had temporarily confiscated Yamamoto’s phone so there would be no wild card plays. This left Ryohei only one option as he paced back and forth alongside the car as he waited for the gas to fill and for Hana to return. Using one hand to hold his phone to his face, he quickly moved the luggage into the backseat again lest Hana started to ask questions.

Gokudera answered the phone immediately and didn’t even wait for him to speak before hissing at him. “Are you crazy? Calling me right now? You want Kurokawa to kill me?! Get out of here and go pay attention to the woman!”

Gokudera hung up and promptly sent his following calls straight to voicemail. He was staying far away from whatever involved Hana.

Ryohei continued to pace after he refuelled the car. Maybe he could stash the body temporarily at one of the safehouses? Would that compromise the integrity of the safehouse? Surely it was too late to turn back around and bury it in the desert. Or was it?

“Is everything okay?” Hana asked when she returned, seeing how tense he had become after Yamamoto’s abrupt departure. Maybe he was reading into her nervous energy? Maybe she just needed to take the lead? Maybe she was being too forward?

He wanted to respond likewise that there was a complication with Yamamoto’s assignment, but he had a feeling that might not go over well.

Climbing into the passenger seat, she kept the bag of snacks in her lap instead of going through the haul, waiting expectantly for a response, a shadow of concern on the corner of her lips.

His mind was blank except for one thought – he didn’t want that worried look to stay on her face a moment longer.

“I’m just worried we won’t make it to our dinner reservations in time,” he fibbed. Technically it wasn’t a lie.

She studied his face for a moment longer before shrugging. “I’ve got this. Just take the toll road; it’ll be quicker.”

Having studied the maps with Yamamoto earlier, he knew the one she was referring to. He also knew that this particular road was patrolled by armed guards.

Thinking of the small arsenal in the trunk, and the—you know—corpse and all, he gulped. “No tolls!” he choked out. The walls of the car were shrinking in on them; and why was it so hot?? Palms sweaty –again—he leaned over to help buckle her seatbelt.

She handed the buckle over to him, their fingers just atoms away, and he felt like the car was a thick plastic sheet and he was being shrink-wrapped.

___

“You know there were no documents, right?” Haru asked as she drove. When greeted with silence, she looked up at Yamamoto in the rear-view mirror, eyebrows raised, pointedly awaiting a response. “Yamamoto-kun, you do know that Hana was never actually delivering any documents, right?”

He appeared to be thinking of a response, so Haru returned her attention to the road.

“Gokudera says that she’s a contrarian,” he announced brightly. “Is that what he meant?” Haru’s eyes flicked up again as Kyoko whipped around in the passenger seat, pulling her sleeping mask off.

“Who asked him?” Haru muttered as Yamamoto seemed to consider his next words more carefully.

“It sounds like,” he began again, dropping his fist into his hand in an a-ha moment, “even if there were no documents, she was looking for security.”

“Yes!” Kyoko and Haru all but yelled. “Just not from you!”

Yamamoto tilted his head to the side. “Why not? It was much easier with both of us. Especially since senpai was distracted by her the entire time.”

Kyoko sighed. “Yamamoto-kun, if we considered for a moment that Gokudera-kun was correct in calling Hana-chan a contrarian, then maybe there was a reason that she framed the question that way.”

Yamamoto considered it for a moment, tapping his chin. “But your big brother would’ve done anything for Hana since he’s in love with her.”

“YES!” the girls yelled. Yamamoto dodged Kyoko’s sleeping mask as she threw it at him. “THAT’S THE POINT.”

___

Had it been just his imagination or did Hana’s hand get closer and closer on the arm rest? Did she need more space? Oh man, his arm was still dumbly on the arm rest. He should move it. Right? But there was no way to move it away without possibly hurting her feelings. Right??

He was saved from his inner monologue by law enforcement zipping past them on the road and he stiffened in his seat.

When his head whipped around to watch the cruiser, Hana took the opportunity to subtly adjust her hand closer to his. She was making it so easy for him to bridge the gap! Why wouldn’t he just do it? Maybe she should just accidentally bump his hand to give him a hint.

But his hand remained stiffly just out of reach, a respectful distance away.

No wait, did his finger twitch? Did it actually move closer to hers?

Another cruiser driving by made him jump and grip the wheel tightly with both hands and Hana almost cried in frustration. She settled with making a sarcastic remark about how hot it was in the car. He laughed nervously but did not put his arm back next to hers for the rest of the trip.

They made it to the hotel right on time, the three of them –Ryohei, Hana, and the, um, passenger—driving exactly the speed limit. Pulling up the long drive, they stopped at the entrance where the valet approached them, opening the passenger door.

Hana unbuckled her seatbelt and took great care to step out of the car gracefully, hoping that Ryohei noticed how elegant she imagined she must look. She thanked the valet and looked back at her companion, frowning when she realized he was still in the driver’s seat, now clearly drenched in sweat.

“Sir, we can take the car for you and arrange for your bags to be taken straight to your room.” Multiple hotel staff started to surround the car, opening the car doors and reaching for the trunk.

“I’ll handle it!” Ryohei choked out, looking around wildly, yanking the driver’s side door closed.

Normally, Hana would have nodded in approval, appreciating the independence and take-charge attitude. However, the way he was acting was giving her hives.

“Just have the valet park it.” Hana prompted, the annoyance creeping into her voice. “I’d like to get ready for dinner.”

“I-it’s a rental!” he stammered and stepped on the gas so suddenly the tires screeched and the car jerked, speeding off and leaving Hana alone on the front steps.

“I’ll be right back!” he called out of the window as he disappeared around the corner, the rest of the car doors slamming shut as he careened around the corner.

Hana stared, speechless and fuming. “He’s taken on an assignment while we’re out here hasn’t he?” she muttered, venom barely contained.

___

Haru and Kyoko had switched drivers as Haru tired, but they both refused to allow Yamamoto to drive.

“When you say that you hadn’t ‘finished the job,’” Kyoko let go of the steering wheel briefly to put her fingers up in air-quotes, whispering conspiratorially, “what was your plan?”

Haru reached over to steady the wheel and bring them back into their lane while Yamamoto shrugged. “How were you going to get rid of the body?” she asked outright, long since desensitized to the notion.

“Body?” he repeated. “Why would I get rid of him? He’s not dead.”

Kyoko swung around in the driver’s seat to stare incredulously and Haru dropped her bag of cookies to grab the wheel with both hands. “He’s not dead??”

Yamamoto swayed a little in the back seat at the sudden movement of the car. “No? I have to bring him to the checkpoint for interrogation.”

“Yamamoto, so help me, you’re dead!”

___

The hotel lobby was bright and warm, and the atmosphere was like an old solarium repurposed for a ritzy night out.

A marble fountain was situated just outside the main dining room, topped by a magnificent ice sculpture – a swan with an elegant curve of a neck, breast arched as it beat its wings in frozen splendour.

Hana watched, after having calmed down a little while getting ready for dinner and trying to make the best of it, as Ryohei stood, arms crossed as he admired the artful pose of the sculpture. She wondered what he was thinking about–his secret assignment –their dinner –her.

It was all three. He was trying to figure out how to get rid of the body, which was technically not even his assignment, but he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. He didn’t want the possibility of discovery to ruin the dinner she was clearly so excited about, but if he left to handle things, it would definitely arouse suspicion.

“Are you ready?” Hana asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

Her sudden gentle question froze him in place just like the sculpture. When he didn’t immediately respond, and instead turned pink and gaped like a fish, she brought her hand back to her side. “Shall we?” she asked, heading towards the hostess.

He unfroze as she stepped away, reaching for her hand just a little too late. The moment had passed and she slipped through his fingers.

___

“They’re eating dinner!” Haru observed, lowering the field binoculars she had swiped from Gokudera’s desk from her face.

“Perfect,” Kyoko replied, looking pointedly at Yamamoto. “This is the perfect chance to retrieve your... things.”

Yamamoto nodded in agreement, but snatched the binoculars from Haru’s hands. He ignored her protests as he brought them to his face. He lowered them slowly and then held them up to Haru again and guided her line of sight to share the bad news.

Haru didn’t say anything either as she placed the binoculars in Kyoko’s hands.

“What?” Kyoko asked as she took a peek as well. Focusing in on the area they had been scanning. She quickly identified the black sedan that Ryohei had rented. The trunk had been kicked open and there was a trail of blood leading away from the vehicle. Kyoko went pale as she followed the trail, catching a glimpse of the limping man as he dove into some nearby hedges. They rustled behind him as he bounded across the grounds towards the restaurant.

Kyoko shoved the binoculars into Haru’s hands and shoved Yamamoto down the hill. “What are you waiting for? After him!!”

___

Somewhere between the appetizer and main course, Ryohei spotted him: Yamamoto, skulking around the corner, trying to be seen but not be seen. Of course, that meant that Hana saw him as well.

When she made eye contact with him, he took that to mean he could approach, like she was some sort of skittish animal that might run or attack if he surprised her.

“What are you doing here.” Again, was the unspoken question.

Hana looked around but didn’t see Kyoko or Haru anywhere in sight.

“I uh... left something in the car,” Yamamoto answered not untruthfully. Perhaps it was that bit of candor that made Hana give him some consideration despite his antics.

Ryohei held his breath as Hana scrutinized him, looked him up and down, and he would have sworn she could see through the man’s head too to ascertain if he was lying. His heart pounded in his chest – could she hear his thoughts too?

Her eyes snapped to him.

NO WAY. Ryohei froze as she scanned his face.

Hana considered her options –the quickest way to get back to her dinner, her vacation, her date, was to give her approval. But it was so hard to get the words out of her mouth when Ryohei would not break eye contact with her, locked in this moment with her and only her; like he was equal parts besotted with and intimidated by her.

“Well, let’s go get it then,” she relented and both men almost sighed in relief. Hana motioned for them to stand. “Let’s not hold him up.”

Ryohei stood so quickly he almost knocked his chair over. “I’ll help him! You start on your ravioli.”

She looked between them with narrowed eyes, gripping her fork and knife until her knuckles turned white, and Yamamoto thought that this must be it; she must have put it all together by now and he was done for.

Ryohei’s gaze flicked rapidly between the whiteness of her knuckles and Yamamoto’s sheepish smile and saw how this would end –two corpses in the back of his rental car, and maybe three if he played his cards wrong.

Bad at math, but taking a calculated risk, he reached across the table and took Hana’s hand. “We’ll be right back.”

The gentle squeeze he gave her hand made her heart flutter and her stomach twist. With a reassuring smile over his shoulder, he left the room with Yamamoto. She hugged her hand to her chest, thinking of where his fingers had trailed over her knuckles just moments earlier. In her shy surprise, she had been too slow to reciprocate. That didn’t sit right with her. No way was that going to be it.

Instead of sipping her grappa, she downed it like a shot, ignoring the affronted sniff of the waiter and the disapproving looks of other guests around her, and marched after them towards the lobby.

“Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Ryohei whisper-shouted as they swept out of the dining room, all but pushing Yamamoto along ahead of him.

Yamamoto didn’t know where to start – it seemed much more urgent to tell him that his quarry was still alive, well, and loose somewhere on the villa’s grounds. Though maybe he should start with the fact that Kyoko and Haru had accompanied him...or maybe Ryohei really needed to know that Hana was interested in him in more ways than just his bodyguard services?

But it was decided for him when Hana marched out of the dining room. “Wait!” she called.

The two of them turned to look at her, and barely had time to react as the man in the trunk yelled down at them from the mezzanine.

Only Ryohei seemed surprised to see him. Wasn’t that man dead??

Yamamoto and Ryohei braced themselves as the man leapt down from the balcony with a wild cry. His cry was drowned out by angrier screams as Kyoko and Haru tackled the man seconds before he sank a butter knife into Yamamoto’s arm. They crashed through the ice swan and sent it flying onto the marble tiles where it shattered into tiny crystalline smithereens.

The men could only stare as Hana marched up between them and stomped on the assailant’s hand with her wedged sandals until he dropped the knife, then twice more for good measure and once more out of spite.

Ryohei’s jaw dropped as Hana spun around. With a wild look in her eyes, she gripped her purse tightly in one hand while the other brandished a fork she didn’t know she was still holding onto and she pointed it at them one by one: Kyoko and Haru sprawled out on the floor, ice broken all around them; Yamamoto who just offered a shrug and a laugh; Ryohei who, for better or for worse, could not tear his eyes away from her furious and fearsome face. “This is not how I wanted my vacation to go.”

“Vacation?” Ryohei repeated, bewildered. “Aren’t you on an assignment? Aren’t we on an assignment?”

“No bro, you’re on a date,” Yamamoto replied, clapping him on the back.

“A date?” Ryohei mouthed as Hana swung the fork at Yamamoto.

“Back up!” she growled. He put his hands up and stepped away from Ryohei who now had his head in his hands. It was all making too much sense but still, not enough.

Kyoko was helping Haru up, brushing the ice chips off of their clothing. Hana softened for just moment for her friends. “Thank you for trying to help,” she said, then her voice hardened, “but you’re all just as bad!”

“Listen lady,” the man on the ground groaned. “I’ll tell you whatever you want – I’m the mole! It was me! I stole the blueprints!”

“Shut up! Save it for...” she looked around until she zeroed in on Yamamoto. Yes, this definitely was his doing. “You!” she snapped at Yamamoto. “You’re going to clean up your mess –now. I don’t care who you have to call.”

“Gokudera doesn’t want to talk to us,” Yamamoto interjected.

She pulled her phone from her handbag, chucking it at him. He caught it easily. “I will be out of office and unreachable. We,” she grabbed Ryohei’s hand, “are on vacation.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Ryohei exclaimed, seeming to come back to his senses.

“She’s a contrarian,” Yamamoto piped up. Kyoko threw her hand over his mouth and dragged him way while Haru hauled the bloodied man out of the lobby by the legs.

At his remark, Hana really didn’t know what to say. Everything she could think of either felt too insincere or too corny.

So he took her hand and said quietly as people started to gather at the commotion. “I would have done anything for you.”

Hana began to tear up, the frustration from the past few days finally catching up. Flustered and angrily brushing the tears away, she squeezed his fingers back. Eager to switch their attention away from her tears, she brought up her other hand.

“What do I do with this?” she whispered, sniffling.

“That’s easy,” he said, reaching out and folding his other hand over hers. “Fork it over.”

“So he’s supposed to be loosely based on a kappa, but throwing a komodo dragon in there with an idol is so wrong!”

“Well at least the animal handler is on standby so Chrome-chan is safe,” Haru responded. “Same with her security team,” she added, eyeing the idol’s bodyguards lining the edges of the set.

Gokudera scoffed. “That airhead’s no use,” he grumbled. “He’s probably playing with the dogs again.”

He kept his back to the rows of grave markers that Haru gazed out over. He’d turned away from the set uncomfortably as his half-sister had thrown off her robes for the scene, Haru keeping watch to let him know when it was safe for his eyes to resume his post. “I meant that’s a sorry excuse for a kappa, even if they use CGI on it later. And those dogs are way too friendly to pass as werewolves.”

“You want them to release aggressive dogs onto set with this celebrity cast?” Haru gave him a look. “There’s a pop idol, a famous youtuber, and supermodels out there and you want to use dogs that are less friendly?”

He returned the look. “No, I’m saying that their cryptids are unrealistic! I’m a fan of the director’s work but no professional would half-ass their research like this!”

“I heard that it’s based on a dream his godson had,” Haru said, frowning slightly as she saw Tsuna chatting with Yamamoto, a leashed cat held in his arms. They shared a laugh over something they were too far away to hear. Sure enough, a bunch of dogs stuck close to his side, tails wagging.

Chrome’s bodyguard stood up from his relaxed perch on a spare tombstone just off the set and moved quickly through the fake cemetery, ducking under boom mics and low hanging branches. The sudden movement caught Haru’s attention.

“Hey!”

“What do you want? Gokudera growled as the back of Haru’s arm smacked into his side. He turned to her furiously, but saw that she was already running out into the graveyard. It only took him a moment longer to process what was happening as more thundering explosions rocked the movie set and he ran to catch up to the costume designer.

“Shit! Oi! Stay off the set, it’s dangerous, you idiot!”

___

Chrome stared up at the dark haired man that was the head of her security detail as he casually tossed aside the explosive he’d snatched in midflight as it had rocketed towards her. It blew up somewhere behind him but all it did was silhouette him for a moment, ruffling his hair and untucking the hem of his shirt. Hibari’s eyes remained locked with hers as she stared up in awe at the cold steel of his gaze that cut through the mayhem and promised murder to anything that dared to cause her harm.

All around them, fire crews were rushing to the scene to put out the minor disaster that was threatening to take over the set. Chrome pushed herself to her feet in the shallow grave.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” Reborn’s voice boomed through the megaphone.

There was a sharp whistle and the dog actor that had accompanied her into the hole they dug was bounding away. Yamamoto whistled again. “Hey, hellhounds! Come back!”

The rest of the runaway pack was slobbering over a laughing man on the ground. She could only make out blond hair and flailing limbs before he was completely overrun with dogs.

Hibari turned to leave, but paused when Chrome called out. “Wait.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down at the huge lizard, knowing what she intended to do.

“He can’t get out,” she said, kneeling down beside the Komodo dragon, at least twice her size. She put her whole weight behind it, but couldn’t heave it out of the hole like she wanted to. She was well suited to the role she played despite what critics were saying –he knew she had the heart of a warrior inside such a small body.

The disgruntled lizard turned towards her and his eyes narrowed as its venomous maw reached for her exposed leg.

Before Hibari could jump into the pit and likely incite the wrath of dozens of animal welfare groups the world over, Yamamoto leapt in to wrangle the lizard back into what looked like an elaborate harness, a pack of dogs at his heels.

“Now, now, be good,” he chastised the lizard as he wrestled it into a harness.

Chrome climbed out of the hole to join Hibari, taking in the scene of destruction around them and the loose perimeter of security around the set. If this had happened years ago, the paparazzi would have been waiting to greet her with their dizzying flashes and intrusive lines of questioning. Now the only one waiting for her was her personal bodyguard, his presence enough of a warning for them all to stay back and give her the space she needed.

Hibari gave her a quick once-over.

“I’m okay,” she answered.

Satisfied, he turned away and she followed.

She was joined by Fran who seemed to materialize beside her, but because she didn’t react in alarm, Hibari did nothing. Over the months of filming, Fran had taken a shine to his co-star despite not knowing the idol prior to meeting on set, and Hibari had grown to accept that he would follow Chrome around though neither of them acknowledged the others’ existence.

“You have to stop breaking the fourth wall when we’re filming,” Chrome chastised lightly, referencing their takes from earlier in the day.

But Fran was staring off into space. “Huh?”

“You can’t just start listing off everything you see when you forget your lines,” she continued as they walked side by side.

“Oh, I’m narrating,” Fran replied airily.

“The film already has a narrator,” Chrome replied, looking ahead at Hibari’s retreating back.

“That creepy prophecy girl,” Fran said.

“Oh... mmhm,” she agreed softly.

“I mean she’s here.”

Chrome looked over with an owlish gaze. Hibari stopped a ways away but cast a watchful glance over his shoulder when he sensed her hesitation. He regarded the newcomer curiously.

Yuni approached with a bright smile. “Chrome-chan! Could I get your autograph?”

After a pause, the popstar nodded and accepted the poster and pen that Yuni held to her.

“What do you do after filming?” Yuni asked, hands clasped in front of her, leaning in with inquisitive politesse as Chrome signed the poster.

“Go back to my trailer and review my lines for tomorrow,” Chrome responded, handing the items back.

“I always knew you were dedicated!” Yuni smiled, holding the poster as if it were a treasure.

“We never do anything fun,” Fran complained.

“Can I join you?” Yuni asked. “We can order dinner and go over our lines together! It’ll be fun!”

Fran looked over at Chrome, thinking she would decline, tilting his head curiously when she nodded. “Ohh?”

Yuni fell into step beside them. “Chrome-chan, don’t you ever get lonely when you’re touring?” Yuni asked.

“Ah! Well...” She averted her eye, looking at Hibari’s retreating back. He had gotten bored and decided to go on ahead by himself. “No,” she replied, “not lonely.”

___

“He’s going to tear you apart later,” Haru said as Gokudera ran past them, shooting a glare at Yamamoto. She had collected Bianchi’s robe from the centre of the set and was holding it tightly to her chest until she could more carefully examine it at her workdesk.

Pushing the lizard into its cage, Yamamoto laughed sheepishly. “You think so?”

“Especially when he finds out you weren’t paying attention.”

Yamamoto laughed again. “What do you mean?” But his laugh had given him away and Haru raised an eyebrow at him.

But before she could say anything about how he had been chatting up the director’s godson who had come to visit him, he went on the offensive, his smile charmingly disarming. The pack of dogs milled about around his legs, bumping him this way and that, and he reached down to ruffle their fluffy heads as their tongues lolled out. “You’ve been spending too much time together if you’re making that face!”

Haru’s cheeks coloured immediately but she couldn’t hide the brief scowl that had preceded it. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

He didn’t spare her. “You know, Gokudera!” he replied, leaving her fuming as he ran off, followed by chorus of happily barking mutts. “Put in a good word for me, thanks!”

___

“Luckily Hibari-san saved most of Chrome-chan’s outfit,” Haru said, letting the light material of Chrome’s dress flow between her fingers as she inspected the fabric.

“You mean luckily she’s unhurt right?” Gokudera corrected with a raised eyebrow.

Haru plowed on as if she hadn’t heard him, pretending she wasn’t very aware of the way his eyebrow arched after Yamamoto had pointed out the habit she had picked up. “But Bianchi’s dress is completely ruined! That was our last set for the take before we went onto the scene where she destroys the dress in the lake with the selkies!”

He looked over at the scraps of white material that Haru held onto. It didn’t look like there was much left of the robe; she would have to make another one from scratch. “Yeah well just make another one or something.” He wondered if she would be able to find a replacement in time.

Her head whipped around and she finally fixed her attention on him. If only she wasn’t glaring daggers. “Excuse me! I can’t just make another one like you replace your fireworks.”

He glowered right back. “They’re not fireworks, they’re pyrotechnics. You know this; I’ve explained it to you a million times.”

“And I’ve explained it to you ten million times –these costumes take time!” Haru huffed and laid the pieces of fabric down on the table between them. He could still see the pieces of golden thread wound through the white material, frayed where his devices had torn through them, scorched like the earth on the set that was still smouldering.

She didn’t say anything else, turning her attention back to the work that needed to be done, only noticing that he had walked out after he was gone. He came and went, and she continued with her spot checks on Chrome’s skirt, only giving him a cursory glance when he entered and exited, collecting more objects each time until the table between them filled with flammable compounds all labelled in Gokudera’s neat script, various accelerants, and an assortment of casings and ignitors.

But she paused to look up from her sewing machine when his last trip had him kicking the door shut behind him. He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he deposited in front of her a few bolts of white fabric and golden thread.

“They all look the same,” he grumbled. “I brought them all so you won’t lecture me on the difference between them again.”

“Thanks,” Haru said slowly, turning over the bolts in her hands; there wasn’t much left so she had no margin for error, but what he had brought her was enough. She could make it work.

She pulled a bottle of milk tea from her yellow-polka-dotted lunchbag sitting on the ground next to her, followed by a can that she had grabbed as an afterthought from the convenience store the other day. She placed them both on the table and slid the canned coffee over to him, avoiding the minefield spread out between them.

Gokudera took his seat across from her and accepted the drink, cracking it open with one hand while he swept his hair back out of his face with the other. “Thanks,” he said quietly but she had already turned her attention back to her work. He took a drink of the coffee – she had managed to keep it cold in her insulated lunchbag for him.

The first time they had had to put in overtime like this, there had been a large accident and all spaces on set were being used by the production team and crew members and the two of them had ended up crammed into an abandoned cast member’s room that was purported to be haunted.

She had been anxious to share a crammed workspace with him at first, worried about the potential of something going wrong or of an accidental misfire. But then she had seen how precise his movements were, how carefully he measured out each component and assembled the explosives. His hands were steady as he wired each device, each component meticulously labelled and accounted for.

This night was no different. Gokudera worked in silence, headphones on, expression focused and serene, goggles secured, sitting crookedly on his chair. His usually prickly personality evened out his aura was almost peaceful as he ran his fingers over a length of magnesium ribbon thoughtfully. He reconsidered and picked up the firefly aluminum instead, pushing aside a container of iron oxide to make more space for it.

Haru always grew too engrossed in her work to notice how he observed her in return; the subtle way her brow furrowed as her eyes roved over her work to ensure perfection in each detail, whether it be correcting a crooked stitch or dyeing a slight discolouration in raw materials she received. Her fingers worked nimbly as she straightened out the large pins that kept her creation in place, each movement deliberate and careful as gold ran through her hands and became something more.

They looked up at each other when their stomachs growled, faces aglow from the flickering lights of the jack-o-lanterns that lined the edges of their shared workbench.

Haru smiled and did a quick back stitch to hold her place before she picked up her cellphone. “It’s going to be a long night. I’ll order us some ramen!”

___

“So you didn’t go on?” Dino asked.

“No we couldn’t shoot any of the selkie scenes because you started a fire on set,” Squalo replied as they walked down the dark street, unevenly lit by streetlights. He kicked an empty can down the road as they walked.

“Aww it was an accident! I thought I’d be able to catch you in your mermaid suit today,” Dino said, bending down to pick the can up when they reached it. “I didn’t think that there would be so many cute dogs on the set to play with.”

“It’s not a mermaid suit! It takes fucking forever to get the selkie makeup and prosthetics on in the morning. It’s heavy as shit.” He glowered. “I thought a supermodel would get it.”

Dino tossed the can up and down in his hand, chuckling softly. “Nothing super here, just a model,” he replied. “How’s Reborn treating you?”

“The man’s tough. I can see why you gave up on acting,” Squalo answered.

“Yeah he said I’ve got the charisma but couldn’t act to save my life. Then he shot at me!”

Squalo threw his head back, laughing uproariously. “Fucking kills me every time you tell that story. They say he’s unorthodox but they’ve got no fucking idea.”

The can slipped from Dino’s fingers and hit him in the head before bouncing over the pavement. He sighed before leaning over to pick it up, only to be yanked backwards by his friend.  A motor scooter zipped by right where Dino had been standing moments earlier.

“Lambo, step on it!” a voice commanded as they flew past. “Halloween’s a busy night for delivery requests!”

“VOI!” Squalo took off after them, yelling obscenities. He scooped up the can that Dino had dropped and whipped it at their retreating backs. “Watch where you’re going!”

When he realized that Dino wasn’t following, he retraced his steps only to find him crouched on the sidewalk with two children at his side. The older one had red hair and was dressed as a storm trooper. The only reason that Squalo could tell that he had red hair was because his helmet lay on the ground. The younger child was clinging onto Dino’s back, yelling at a group of teenagers across the street.

“I’m the mighty Skull! You can’t talk to me like that!”

The trio of bullies laughed and jeered.

“Give us our candy back!” Skull yelled. “O-or you’ll pay the consequences! Enma! Show them!”

“Oh yeah?” they jeered. “What’s going to happen? Are you going to get your stormtrooper to shoot us?”

Enma turned red and looked down at his shoes.

“That’s enough!” Dino said sternly. “Give them their candy back.”

But Squalo had enough experience dealing with Dino’s bullies during their school days to know that wouldn’t work. So he loomed over behind them. “VOI! What are you shitheads doing?”

His sudden appearance and shouting startled them and they jumped in surprise, spinning around to face him. His smile was sinister as he cracked his knuckles.

“Squalo! You can’t hit kids!” Dino exclaimed, putting his hand over Skull’s eyes, or at least where he assumed his eyes to be under his visor.

“I don’t see any brats here,” Squalo said, smirking down at them. “I see a shitty vampire, a half-assed wizard, and a... what the hell are you supposed to be?”

The teen responded indignantly through the furry mask covering his face. “A werewolf!”

Squalo squinted. “And crackhead bigfoot here.”

He unsheathed the sword he had at his side that Dino had told him not to take off the set.

“Oh shit he’s insane!”

“Yo let’s dip!”

The teens turned to run, and Squalo followed in pursuit.

Dino sighed and turned his attention to the two kids that stayed with him. Enma watched in silent dismay as Squalo chased down the bullies, catching them by the end of the block.

“What are you dressed as?” Dino asked.

“I’m Skull! The World’s Greatest Hitman!” he answered as if that didn’t leave Dino with more questions than he had started with. “And this is my brother Enma!”

Dino picked up Enma’s stormtrooper helmet and brushed off the scuffs and leaves as best as he could before giving it back to him. He thanked Dino so quietly that he thought the child had mouthed the words.

Squalo returned to their side, sheathing the prop sword and shoving the pillowcases full of candy at Enma. He stuttered a surprised thank you, gathering the superman and Mickey Mouse pillowcases into his arms, grimacing a little as some candy spilled out.

Dino scooped them into his hand and pressed a lollipop into Skull’s fingers before straightening up and putting the rest of the candy back into the pillowcases that Enma held tightly.

“Hey, I know a place that hands out jumbo-sized candy bars,” Dino said.

“Really!?” Skull’s face was obscured by the oversized biker helmet that he wore, but Dino could tell his eyes had widened by the way his voice jumped an octave.

“Haha yeah!” Dino assured. “It’s where we’re headed now if you want to come along?”

“Hey! Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to follow strange men that offer you candy?” Squalo shouted.

Enma looked between apprehensively but nodded. “Stay close,” he murmured, holding his hand out to Skull who ignored it and ran ahead.

“I’ll lead the way!”

“You don’t know where you’re going!” Enma ran after him across the street.

“Look both ways!” Dino called, starting after them, but tripped halfway through the crosswalk.

Squalo caught his arm and righted him gruffly. “Watch it.”

“Thanks Squalo!” Dino grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Squalo waved him off. “There’s idiots out here on their shitty vespas; if you got killed by one it’d be pathetic as fuck.”

___

“Thank you!” Yuni called from within the trailer.

“Ah, yeah, thanks,” Fran mumbled, already digging into their order.

Chrome thanked I-Pin as she stepped away from the door.

“That extra order won’t last until a midnight snack,” I-Pin warned.

“There’s no extra order,” Chrome replied, a little confusion bleeding into her tone.

“There were four orders,” I-Pin said, quickly checking the order ticket on her phone. “But three people.”

Chrome placed the fourth order of ramen on at the top of the stairs and looked up. “It’s not an extra.” I-Pin followed her gaze up to the moon. Seeing nothing, she shrugged and wished her a good night before bounding down the stairs to return to where Lambo sat waiting on the vespa.

“Ready?” she asked, putting her helmet on.

“W-w-what’s that?!”

I-Pin looked back at Lambo’s whimper to see him pointing up above the moonlit trailer with a trembling finger.

A silhouetted figure sat on top of the trailer, reclined comfortably with one leg bent in perfect repose. The moon was too bright to see the features of the figure’s face but she could tell they were being watched with lazy predation.

“I-Pin, let’s go!”

The waver in his voice made her trailer and hop on the back of the vespa again, knowing he wouldn’t drive off without her, but that he would cry if they stayed any longer with the spooky atmosphere.

Sitting in reverse with her back against Lambo’s, holding the rest of their deliveries close to her chest, she kept her eyes on the spirit that watched over Chrome until the trees grew so tall they obscured the moon, folding themselves over between them until she could no longer see the trailer or Chrome’s protector as they sped away through the night.

Only when Chrome went back inside did Hibari leap down gracefully to eat the dinner she had left for him.

___

She heard his approach but did not acknowledge it. Byakuran stayed in the entryway of the greenhouse, just watching her care for the toadflax that was a stand-in for the fantasy silk sage. He thought it ironic that she dedicated her attention to a plant that symbolized the desire for the recipient to notice of the giver’s love.

“You noticed the plants were dry when we were filming?”

Bianchi lowered the watering can from the silk sage plant and set it down beside the pot.

“You did too,” she replied. “And you almost broke character.”

“Not all of us perfectly embody our personas,” he said a little plaintively.

She registered his petulant pout and exaggerated expression and thought he fit the bill of a self-indulgent demon rather well.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he repeated a little more softly.

They lapsed into silence as she ran her fingers over the soft leaves that the fictional plant was named for.

She looked up when he approached, painfully aware of his proximity like they had been over the last months of filming together, in a weighted and measured dance with the other, like the gravity of stars drawn together, or the certainty of waves to the shore.

He held up a cluster of flowers to her that looked to be what they used in place of the blood blossoms on set, except the rich colour was much more pigmented and there was an enigmatic scent emanating from them. “What do you think?”

She leaned towards the flowers he offered, holding a strand of hair away from her face; her eyes closed slowly and she inhaled deeply.

“An amaranth.” Bianchi pulled back slightly, the strand of hair slipping over her shoulder to trace lightly over his forearm. She looked up through her thick lashes at him, eyes lidded and lips parted in a small smile. “Decadent.”

He smiled back, pulling away entirely, that strand of her hair trailing down his arm. He let it slip through his fingers. “An amaranth,” he agreed. “For immortality.”

“Immortality?” she repeated breathily, stepping over to close the distance he had created between them.

Byakuran took another step back with a teasing laugh. “For an undying love.”

He seemed to float out of her reach even without the animatronic wings and the wires he wore during filming, but she kept pace with him, used to his movements from the time they spent on set together, with him as her shadow. They were very familiar with each others’ bodies.

“Now why would you give me such a flower?” she asked, her voice low.

He pulled the flower close to his chest before lifting it to his nose to breathe in its scent. “I didn’t give you anything!”

She continued her approach until he found himself with his back against the wall, the moonlight slanting through the glass panels of the ceiling.

“Maybe I’ll take it,” she murmured, plucking it from his fingers and placing it in his breast pocket.

“Should I keep calling you by pet names?”

“Well, it’s gauche to ask a witch for her true name.” He played along; it was hard not to recognize her as the face of the perfume industry, from magazine covers and red carpet events.

“You may continue to call me Byakuran; after all, you named me, witch.”

She played along too; she knew him from his youtube channel, avidly watching his every dessert mukbang video, every unboxing, and every sweet shop review.

“Is that right, demon?” She purred against his lips. He could feel the warmth emanating from her as her body pinned his to the wall, dizzy from that citrus scent wafting from her skin.

“Hurry! The noodles are getting soggy!”

Byakuran pulled the woman further into the shadows, whispering a quiet shhh in her ear, and Bianchi pressed closer still as two people rushed through the greenhouse, one in a red uniform and the other in a cowprint shirt. They darted through the set without so much as a glance around them and then they were gone out the other end.

“Okay, okay, there’s a shortcut through here... Geez, It’s not like Haru will let Gokudera kill us if we’re late again.”

“I’ll kill you if we’re late again!”

Bianchi didn’t even so much as glance over at them, taking the opportunity to pin him against the wall with her gaze. He watched their exit over her shoulder with a dispassionate smile. She wanted to make him feel something.

Wearing her shroud of night, she pulled him under, but the angel wasn’t as unmoved as he seemed. She leaned in to test the waters, just simmering below the surface, and he closed the distance himself to have a taste.

___

“Take care!” Tsuna waved to Enma and Skull as Yamamoto put the bowl of candy down on the side table. The green paint on Yamamoto’s neck and face was starting to rub off on the collar of his shirt, and Tsuna tried not to worry about the staining it would cause in the laundry.

Leave it to his boyfriend to use stage makeup taken from the film set to turn himself into a classic zombie.

Dino hovered just behind them, staring out down the path after them. “You think they’ll be okay?” he asked.

Tsuna shut the front door as Squalo laughed, having already made himself comfortable on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. “Go trick-or-treating with them if you’re that worried,” he called.

Yamamoto put a jumbo chocolate bar in Dino’s hands before leading him over to take a seat beside Squalo. “They’ll be fine!” His flippant tone was somehow reassuring and Dino allowed Yamamoto to take his coat. “They’ve got enough candy in their pillowcases to use them like clubs now!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Tsuna said, making a face.

An orange tabby cat immediately jumped onto Dino’s lap.

“Even the cat loves you,” Squalo remarked as Natsu settled in and curled up on him, purring up a storm. “Just like the dogs today,” he finished, inclining his head towards Yamamoto who only smiled up at Tsuna, perched on the armrest.

Remembering the hours it had taken to get the prosthetics on only for it to have been wasted and then taken off, Squalo frowned at Yamamoto’s feigned innocence and Tsuna’s flustered guilt.

“Dino and I wanted to visit everyone,” Tsuna began.

“We wanted to get a sneak peek,” Dino said. “Especially since Reborn was making a movie based on Tsuna’s dream!”

“And you got distracted!” Squalo reprimanded, not letting Yamamoto off the hook even though he just laughed it off.

“Tsuna told me I forgot to buy the Halloween candy!” Yamamoto recounted. “But he forgot to prepare dinner for us, so we’re even!”

The doorbell rang again and Tsuna turned away from Dino and Squalo lounging on the couch to answer it, but Yamamoto beat him to it, jogging over with firm hand on Tsuna’s shoulder to tell him to stay put and enjoy his chat, and a quick kiss pressed to his cheek in passing to casually remind him he was adored.

“You said there would be dinner!” Squalo shouted after him.

“Yes, yes,” he called back as he scooped up the bowl of candy and answered the door.

On the other side of the doorframe, Lambo jumped in surprise as a zombie opened the door.

“Delivery!” I-Pin said brightly.

“Oh! I-Pin! Lambo!” he greeted. “That was fast!”

I-Pin rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be nice, Yamamoto-san. Lambo took his time today. I would’ve driven like you taught me.”

Yamamoto laughed as she handed over his order of ramen. He held the bowl of candy out to I-Pin and she selected a few lollipops for Lambo.

“Yeah, but Lambo,” Yamamoto asked. “I thought you had a Halloween party to go to tonight?” He hesitated when Lambo flapped his hands and began waving his arms, giving him a panicked look.

I-Pin looked between the two of them confusedly.

“Ahh!” Yamamoto smiled knowingly. “I know! You’re helping her out on the scariest night of the year instead of going to the party!”

“VOI!”

Lambo and I-Pin jumped at the voice of the man that had pursued them doggedly earlier in the night. Squalo stalked over to the door to confirm that they were also the one and the same.

“It’s you on that shitty vespa!” Squalo growled.

“Um, trick or treat?” Lambo squeaked, backing away.

I-Pin was one step ahead of him, running back to the motor scooter. “Lambo, let’s go!”

He stumbled away from the door, jumping onto the back of the scooter and grabbing onto the seat for dear life as she took off without warning.

“I-Pin, slow down!” Lambo screamed.

“We gotta’ get to your party!” she called back.

He held his helmet to his head as the chinstrap flapped in the wind, staring at her back. “Don’t we have more deliveries to do?”

“I’ve only got one more for the night,” she replied, “and it’s me getting you to your Halloween party!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Lambo shrieked as he saw that Squalo and his fury were gaining ground on them. He spun around in the seat, throwing his arms around her waist. “I-Pin, speed up!”

“That, I can do! Hold on tight!” she called back as they raced off into the night, or at least as quickly as the scooter would allow. Lambo held her tightly and hoped that they would arrive unscathed; but also that maybe when they did, she would accept his invitation to join him.

___

The sky was a bright grey, with golden rays filtering through. The full moon had cast long shadows in the night and it would soon pass the torch to the sun’s radiance. Daybreak was eminent over the graveyard, and the night was almost over, but not just yet.

Haru stretched and yawned, uncurling from the position she had held over her sewing machine through the night. She laid out Chrome’s repaired garments and the new robe that she had worked ceaselessly on for Bianchi. After the work was done, she was left with about a yard of material – too small to do anything with besides being used as scrap. She shook it out to remove loose threads and then folded it neatly at her side.

Gokudera had put his head down to rest hours earlier. Haru had noticed when he did not get back up. His back was rising and falling evenly with each breath, his goggles discarded beside his sleeping face. Crates of neatly stacked sticks of dynamite sat around him, carefully prepared and ready to be set off at a moment’s notice.

She stood to clear the empty takeout boxes overturned on the table between them, the disposable chopsticks unbalancing the empty Styrofoam containers. She hoped he liked the ramen she had ordered more than the instant noodles he would have made for them with the electric kettle he had kicked into the corner a few days back; she knew he would not have easily allowed himself the luxury of ordering food if he could find a quicker alternative on his own.

But then again, he was unused to someone else caring for his needs.

Smiling, Haru fluffed out the scrap of fabric again; it wasn’t large enough to be useful in any other way, but it would serve well enough to keep him warm. She settled the small white sheet over his shoulders and reached down to touch his cheek, but paused with her fingers hovering just over his face. Reconsidering, she picked up his can of coffee, swished it around, and finished it. He would wake soon and grumble about the makeshift blanket, but not just yet.

___

“Why are we still here?” Fran’s voice whined in monotone. He looked up from where he was nestled in the crook of her arm, pressed close to her chest as she squatted in the woodland.

The girl paid no attention to the large bullfrog she cradled other than to shush him softly. Her other arm was extended towards the two humanoid figures that always crept at the edges of her vision. Her eyepatch was slipping slightly, but she didn’t have a free hand to push it up and she couldn’t make any sudden movements lest she startle the creatures.

The basket of puffball mushrooms and herbs she had collected sat at her feet as she pushed the wildberry pastries and meat pies toward the cryptids that lurked at the edge of the clearing. The lizard creature hung back with watchful eyes while the larger, furry beast crept forward, only having eyes for the pastries that she offered.

Nagi knew what Fran was referring to.

It had begun with accusations against the most vulnerable of their town. The orphan girl that lived in the alleys behind the church refused to dress in anything other than slacks and had evaded capture from the authorities for years until she was found stealing a lamb. She was imprisoned on charges of witchcraft on the grounds that she was procuring lamb’s blood for a ritual, but on the eve that she would have been burned, she vanished from her cell. The council proclaimed that her escape was due to black magic, and the villagers whispered that it was the shepherd’s son that had liberated her in the night, but Nagi had seen how young woman had chipped through the bars and manoeuvred through the narrow space of the window, climbing to freedom and disappearing into the night.

Fear continued to spread, and soon it was a young girl that lived on the outskirts of the village that predicted the deaths of many officials on the town council. Nagi thought that the pinpoint accuracy of the girl’s visions was miraculous, but the villagers had cried witchcraft and had the girl imprisoned awaiting trial. A noblewoman passing through town had tried to use her position to leverage mercy for them found herself on the receiving end of their ire as well. It was rumoured that she was to be drowned in the morning.

Then it was the woman who ran the apothecary because she cared for a colony of feral cats and the nature of her product made the judges chary. Her accusations were followed by that of an escort that dared to express her disdain at the witch hunt. Nagi and Fran had only noticed because their master had been rather fond of the red-haired woman’s company and her churlish character. They had left their woodland hut and gone into town that day to check in on her, basket on her arm filled with meat pies and sweet tarts, and Fran hidden inside from the prying eyes of the public. M.M. had looked at her with the same disdain she had regarded the judges with, but she had accepted the creel through the barred basement window only to scream and throw it all back at her when she reached in and touched the frog familiar.

Nagi had scooped up the remains of the ruined pastries as M.M. yelled, cursing up such a storm at the witch’s retreating back that guards came running. They had seen her face as she withdrew, her one eye wide with fear as M.M. shouted that Fran had been such a majestic owl and that Nagi was a horrible witch that had turned him into a disgusting toad. The guards gave chase as she made a beeline for the tree line, but traversed no further into the fae domain.

She ran with Fran in her arms until she was sure they were no longer being pursued but decided to take a detour back to their home on the off chance they were being followed, taking the opportunity to collect puffball mushrooms for dinner, along with ember marjoram along the path for a simple warding spell around their home, and spark rue, thistlecress, and bearberries for a protective charm she wanted to try on Fran.

He didn’t think they could stay undetected in their forest home any longer as they waited for their master to return from his journey, but their conversation had been interrupted when Nagi noticed the cryptids shadowing them, the same ones that often circled their home in the night and that Nagi had been feeding.

“Who would take care of Chikusa and Ken if we left?”

“Gross,” Fran croaked. “You named them.”

“I named you too,” Nagi reminded. She remembered the owl familiar perched on its master’s shoulder with the same mismatched eyes and then tried not to remember her benefactor’s imperious gaze and impish smile because he was no longer with them.

His wit sharp as ever, Fran immediately had a response ready. “I’m a frog; I can’t process human emotions.”

Nagi fixed him with a stare until he let out a resounding ribbet that sent the werewolf and lizard creature scurrying away into the darkness, leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake; at least they had eaten some. Satisfied, she straightened up and brushed off her pleated skirt, readjusting her grip on Fran. “Why a frog though? You’re a shapeshifter and you used to take on the form of an owl.”

“Apprentices don’t get to be choosy,” he replied disinterestedly. “Creepy, evil perverts shouldn’t get to be picky either.”

She felt a shudder run down Fran’s spine and she patted his head right between his bulging eyes. “He put a hex on you to activate whenever you badmouth him, didn’t he?”

“And if I even think about leaving this form. Even beyond the grave, he’s still a creepy, evil, pervert sadist,” the frog whined. “It was for the good of the world that he croaked… ouch.”

“Your master’s just on a journey right now,” Nagi said, “and you’ve been entrusted to me.”

“You know it’s the other way around right? He said that after he offed himself, to make sure he was buried in that specific plot in the cemetery, and not to raise him from hell until he was ready. Oh and he said that I had to look after the little witch girl with no powers.”

Nagi ignored the slight at her weak magical ability. “We can’t leave until he returns. We have to protect his home.”

“It’s your home too.”

He got the last word because she didn’t know what to say.

A mob of crows cawed as they took wing from the bristly pines and peeling birch trees that lined the path. A crisp autumnal breeze caught the cacophony and lifted it to the skies, somber, grey, and cold.

___

It didn’t take long for the village to organize an expedition into the woods. Nagi had been wrong; they were more afraid of a witch than they were of the fae. They showed at dusk as Nagi and Fran were collecting mellow moss and aster tubers by the creek, as all witches knew this was the best time for a quality harvest.

Fran had shifted into a human form to assist her, pantlegs rolled up to his knees as he waded into the creek in search of the slippery plants she needed for her various soups and potions (he couldn’t reliably tell the difference). He kept a cheeky cap on his head with a frog face which he had found that kept him within the parameters of the enchantment his master had placed on him.

He had noticed their approach first, and Nagi soon after when she felt the subtle change in his demeanour from comfortably uncouth to forced nonchalance. Stepping out of the creek, he returned to her side.

“Fran,” she murmured, reaching towards him as he came closer.

“What? Gross,” he said but made no move to avoid the fingers she trailed across his cheek.

“We can run,” she said, placing her hand a little more cogently on his face.

“We could.”

“But I would slow you down?” she surmised, letting her hand fall back to her side.

He looked back impassively, following the downward trail of her hand, their expressions mirrored. “No, but this sadist master of mine has a hut in this forest that this cute witch girl with no powers is determined to protect until he returns from his reincarnation journey.” Fran sighed peevishly as the hex activated. He ignored it and shifted his preferred human form into a perfect copy of Nagi, dark haired and birdlike.  

She looked him up and down, knowing full well what his plan was; but she couldn’t let him do that. Torches flickered in the nearing distance. He saw the same flicker in her eye. “We could fight.”

“You should run,” he said mildly as if he were commenting on the weather. “If you want to live, then bet your life on finding that corpse’s ring. That should have enough juice to enhance even your ability.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

The familiar looked the witch up and down before turning his back on her. Fog rolled in between them and thickened until the air felt heavy. “Okay then, I’ll go. Goodbye!”

His lacklustre departure and uncharacteristically bright goodbye confused her. Fran had said he didn’t understand human emotions, but if so, why did he use the fog to cover his face?

The little witch girl watched powerlessly as his form was slowly lost to the mist, pursued in her stead by a witch hunt. The torches flared like a warning, a beacon of terror; she waited until they passed and ran in the opposite direction, scooping up the basket filled with the fruits of their labour.

___

She ran until she reached their humble home, circled with a shroud of protective charms. The hazy enchantments parted for her as she ran up the steps and threw the wooden door open without hesitation. Nagi walked with purpose over to the corner of the kitchen, pushing aside a broomstick and an umbrella in her search. A pair of tall rubber boots fell over, and she grabbed the shovel that sat behind them. Hefting the spade over her shoulder, she cowed a little at the sudden weight, but caught herself before she toppled over backwards. Then she was out the door again, leaving behind their darkened home, basket of moss and tubers on the kitchen table, dinner uncooked.

Nagi knew the forest like the back of her hand, her footing sure as she flew through the dark, finding the quickest path through the undergrowth as if it were nothing. She had travelled these secret trails with her benefactor and his familiar many times before. Now she was alone, but determined to save them –to protect Fran and preserve the sanctity of their home— even if that meant disturbing his slumber.

The spot he had asked them to bury his body was in the corner of the cemetery, under a cluster of aspen trees on the unmarked plot, with their low hanging branches that had obscured the location. They had had to chop them away in order to lay him to rest after he began his journey through the different planes of existence. The places where they had marred the pure white bark had healed into dark scars, aspen eyes that now watched her every move. 

Nagi brushed off their gazes and wasted no time in breaking ground. It was harder than she thought, and she felt the reverberation through the handle, wincing slightly. Unable to afford a moment’s rest when Fran was in danger, she put her foot against the shovel and heaved until the earth gave way and turned over for her. She did it again and again until she could no longer stand, her arms and legs shaking.

She threw the shovel to the side, falling to her knees in the shallow hole, trying not to let the desperation overwhelm her. Shadows moved in the edges of her vision, and she jumped backwards not a moment too soon as a creature landed with a solid thud where she had been crouched.

The werewolf snarled and began digging away. “Ken,” she murmured. He grunted back at her as he dug so avidly it sprayed mud and grass all around them. 

A humanoid lizard slid down into the opened earth to join them, giving her what seemed like a nod before it began to tear at the hard ground as well. “Chikusa,” Nagi whispered. She watched them in stunned silence before wiping the sweat from her brow and joining them.

Her only companions beneath the moon were a beastly dog and scaly varanid that dug alongside her. Hands and knees in the dirt, fingers curled into claws, the broke through the earth, exhuming the unmarked grave until her bloody hands met cold fingers rising from the dirt.

Nagi took a deep breath and reached for the ring glinting in the low light. As soon as her fingers touched the cool metal, the world around her ignited, and explosion rocking through the cemetery with thunderous force, throwing her forward into the dirt.

Before she could recover, there was another explosion, and a flash of heat that flared above her head that made her press herself down into the ground before slowly raising her head to check if there was an opening for escape.

A dark figure loomed over the grave, silhouetted by an intense fire that blazed behind him. His dark hair fluttered with the blazing hot air, embers whipping past and illuminating his impassive face. His eyes were steely as he caught a projectile in his hand, regarding the flames it spat before casually tossing it aside. She cried out softly at the blast as it shook the ground again. The world was on fire and she could not understand why he was here, but knew that as long as he was, she was safe. 

She found her footing and got to her feet.

___

“You stand before us accused of witchcraft,” the judge presiding proclaimed, leaning forward to fix her with a look down his nose. “What say you to these charges?”

She smiled demurely and spoke after an uncomfortably long silence. “What do you know of witchcraft?” she asked. Bianchi tilted her head just so, letting her hair slip out from behind her ear, her full lips parted in an enigmatic smile that she knew would unsettle the panel assembled to arraign her because of the apothecary she owned and the feral cats that frequented her home. “What exactly am I accused of?”

“Witchcraft!” his voice boomed.

When he realized that he had failed to intimidate her, Bianchi tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Look at all of these men, afraid of a few kittens.”

“Ah yes,” a new voice said breezily, its prescience pervasive but somehow without form or substance, “but kittens also have claws.”

The chief justice looked around, his panic beginning to rise.

But nothing changed in Bianchi’s demeanour, as if this was a regular occurrence. “And teeth,” she added. Then she turned her attention back to the judge. “But yes, I am a witch.”

The man’s eyes lit up as if he had caught her in his web, but her next words made his smug smile falter.

“Of the worst kind.” She watched him squirm. “What will you do with that knowledge? You can’t kill me in any way that matters.” She paused to allow him to splutter. “But would you like to try?”

“Such impudence!” The man looked at the panel of judges that sat on his either side, reeling back slightly when he saw the same dreamy smile on each of their faces.

Bianchi stepped forward, the lights in the room began to flicker and brighten as they filled with some sort of supernatural energy. The brighter it grew in the room, the longer the shadows that were cast and thrown about, criss-crossing and layering over each other until the contrast threatened to overcome them all.

Bianchi’s shadow on the wall seemed to tremor on the edges like a desert mirage, glowing hazily. A form began to take shape behind it, a silhouette of a man with feathery wings that oscillated between cold light and sinful darkness, tucked safely into her shadow, threatening to overflow, just brimming with untapped power and wild magic. But when the judge looked behind her, he saw nothing that could cast such an ominous and oppressive presence.

“Stop this at once!” he yelled, trembling in his seat as she continued to approach, pulling herself up onto the dais and leaned over until her lips brushed his ear and the collar of her dress dipped, tempting him closer. The others around him merely smiled dumbly, as if there was anything amusing at what they were witnessing.

“Witch!” the magistrate gasped.

Bianchi smiled wanly. “Yes, and?”

“Demon!” he cried.

“He prefers ‘angel,’” she replied lightly when the flames danced higher as the gas lamps struggled to keep up.

“If you don’t require anything else of me, I’ll be leaving now,” she murmured lowly in the judge’s ear, cupping his jaw in her long fingers, tilting his head back just enough to leave him vulnerable, with just enough volume to ensure that he was not the only one that had a shiver run down his spine. “You’d best be careful. There’s dark magic out there.”

She left a whisper of a laugh on his cheek and the faint scent of lilac and lemon verbena in her wake. Her eyes dared him to make a move. He didn’t; they were all under her thrall. They stared as she turned to leave, the smiling shadow of a spectre trailing at her heel, wings half unfurled as it moved like an angel in chains.

___

The first things she saw as she entered the dark apothecary were the white patches of Luce’s calico fur as the cat slept in a nest made in an empty crate on the counter. The matriarch of the colony had finally gotten comfortable enough in her presence to enter the shop and had begun spending more time indoors as she aged; she continued to sleep as Bianchi approached.

“There you are,” Bianchi murmured as amber eyes lifted from Luce’s sleeping form. “Renato,” she greeted. The black cat yawned, showing her his pink mouth before closing his eyes and returning to sleep as well, a sleek void curled protectively around Luce. “They mistook you for my familiar.” She chuckled quietly and lit the candles lining the space with a flick of her wrist.

Another cat pressed itself against her legs and she leaned down to give him a scratch behind the ears. “How wrong they were, right Fon?” It was hard to tell how old the feral was, especially given how spry he still was, but his once jet black fur had lost its pigmentation and he glowed a russet brown that was particularly red in the candlelight. He evaded her touch and disappeared deeper into the shop.

She watched him go fondly, seeing the small Russian Blue she had named Skull scamper after him. He had been the only one of his littermates to survive a particularly harsh winter, and now his gangly form shadowed Fon wherever he went.

“If you took any of them on as a familiar, they could stay with you forever, you know?” Bianchi felt the shift when his presence left her as if she were shedding a cloak. He materialized like a white shadow behind her. She didn’t bother turning to face him—he posed no threat to her so she went on to sort through her various sickles and knives.

“I already have you for eternity, my love,” Bianchi replied to the demonic presence as Byakuran floated forward to rest his chin on her shoulder, looking at the way she inspected each blade and placed each and every one precisely in its spot, lining them neatly beside the crucible.

“Until I tired of you, pet” he teased.

“Until I tire of you and send you back to that infernal realm that I summoned you from, darling,” she corrected.

“No, you wouldn’t!” Byakuran gasped with his eyes as wide as saucers. “As an immortal, hell does grow dull.”

“And you and your epicurean ideals simply could not be contained,” Bianchi said, stepping away to check on her greenhouse. Byakuran followed closely as she continued to poke barbs at him. “Except, that’s exactly what it was – you can’t sustain your form in this plane of existence without feeding off of my magic. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“I’m just another one of your charity cases,” he concluded, smiling down at little Skull who peered out at him from behind the safety of a cabinet. The kitten hissed and leaped away.

Bianchi ran her hands over the soft leaves of a silk sage plant, pausing to consider for a moment when the leaves crunch faintly –much too dry. There wasn’t a moment to spare to water it; there were more things to follow and she had to move things along.

Byakuran sensed the moment of hesitation and he took a half-step closer, and then away again when she gave him a look that was a little more forceful than necessary to remind him of his role.

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled as he held his hands up in feigned surrender.

She moved onto the next pot, pushing aside the fronds to check on the condition of the soil. The herb hadn’t seemed to be thriving as well as she’d hoped and she had crushed some eggshells to hopefully enrich the soil. She poked around the check the moisture and hummed appreciatively when she saw the fractured femur was dry of marrow and that the flesh had started coming off of the knuckles tucked into the roots –the plant would begin its recovery as nutrition was slowly absorbed.

“How is the dead man’s dill?” Byakuran asked conversationally.

“I know you don’t care unless it’s a flowering plant,” Bianchi said, to which he laughed, stepping closer to encircle her in his arms.

“I was hoping that once I escaped from hell I could at least stop and smell the roses,” he whispered with his lips on her ear.

“I’ll give you something better than roses,” she murmured, placing her finger in his mouth. He bit hard enough to draw blood and felt her magic flow, filling him with more of that energy until he was brimming with the madness and his dark wings unfurled behind them.

His tongue ran over her finger before he pressed a chaste kiss on the tip to stop the bleeding.

“Better than roses,” he agreed.

“Oh there’ll be more than roses, love” she promised.

They stayed like that for a while, swaying lightly, as confidantes in the low light, dangerous and untouchable. His voice was like crushed velvet, hers like sultry satin, his laughter like warm sugar, hers like a poisoned apple; both of them hardly soft and bitterly sweet.

___

He followed her to the graveyard, able to maintain a humanoid form at her side now that the world was asleep. Knowing his floral fixation as an aesthete, she wanted to give the demon enough to satisfy his greedy nature.

Finding a spot among the burial grounds, Bianchi drew the circle around her with her athame, carving it lightly into the ground. He felt the energy thrumming along the seam, and how it intensified as the circle was completed, letting her channel it freely.

The silky white robe she wore slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the ground by her feet. She slid a hand up her bare thigh and up her exposed arm. He followed the motion of her hand, gaze flicking over to her other hand as she beckoned him closer.

He took a few steps towards her, unable to get any closer than the circle’s barrier would allow. He watched her move: the tantalizing sway of her hips, the soft movements of her hands, the flutter of her lashes as she turned her face to the firmament. He had never seen someone so connected to the sky; the clouds had parted, letting the moonlight make her bare body glow and the stars dance in her hair as she turned slow circles with her arms raised. She looked like an angel, the picture of heaven, like a beautiful painting he would taint.

The blood blossom buds burst open, reaching for the energy she emanated. The moonvines grew around her feet, curling around the headstones in their vicinity, crawling closer until the flowers bloomed a brilliant white.

But something distracted him from fully appreciating the show.

There was a sound, a thudding, a pounding, repeating somewhere in the middle distance. So while Bianchi lost herself in the dance, Byakuran floated between the headstones to seek out the source of the sound, until he found the girl in the ditch, desperately clawing at the earth with her hands. He caught a glimpse of the hand that jutted out of the ground and the metal ring on the corpse’s finger and chuckled under his breath.

“Interesting,” he murmured, looking at the girl’s small frame as she and her beastly companions paused in their excavation. “So you’ve got something to do with that lovely man that wreaked havoc in hell.”

He floated back over to his mortal patron. That bit of amusement would only grow more interesting with time, aging like a fine wine, but he wanted to enjoy this moment with an angel before it was lost to time.

He saw her eyes fly open before he heard the first explosion, like a crack of thunder that shook the ground hard enough that she had to grip a headstone for support.

A dark figure flew past them in the opposite direction, stoic and steely-eyed, towards the graverobbing girl.

There was another explosion that shot fire between them, and he skidded to a stop, only to see Bianchi break the circle and make her way towards him, somehow still graceful while moving swiftly. He took her outstretched hand and pulled her close, his black wings wrapping them up as the fire raced along the edges of the graveyard. Loose feathers whirled around them, catching fire and taking flight.

“Hellfire not too hot for you I hope, darling?”

“It’s fire and brimstone, my angel; it’s the beating heart of stars, and it keeps me warm.”

The intensity of her words made him look into her eyes and really look—she was no longer acting. Bare of costume or disguise, she was somehow more than a skyclad sylph, more than passion incarnate, and he would gladly drink her love potion, poison and all.

___

“Matthew I told you, you can call me Arthur.” He reminded him softly with a fond look.

Matthew blushed. “I’m sorry! Mi-Arthur, I couldn’t sleep. Alfred told me something and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’m confused.”

Arthur got out of his chair and kneeled in front of him. “And what is it that Alfred told you? Maybe I can explain it to you.”

Matthew looked him in the eye for a few seconds before his nerves took over and he quickly looked away. “He said today was Saint Valentine’s Day. I asked him what that was and he said it was a day to get chocolate from your friends and family. I asked him why this was a holiday but he did not answer. I-I was go-going to ask you when you gave us the chocolate earlier b-but I was t-too sc-scared.”

Arthur sighed. “Oh lad, never be afraid to ask me anything. As for Saint Valentine’s Day, do not listen to Alfred. Saint Valentine’s Day is a day to show your loved ones how much you love them. People usually show their love through chocolate, like I did with you and Alfred today. Others buy each other gifts or give each other flowers. There are plenty of ways people express their love on this day.”

“But why do we show our love today? Why not do this everyday?”

“Well…you see...I’m not quite sure. It is just a thing people do. Everyone shows their loved ones how much they love them everyday, but I guess today is a day to do something special for them.”

“Something special…” Mathew looked up with his hand on his chin in thought and his bottom lip sticking out. Arthur chuckled at his adorable look. Suddenly Matthew exclaimed “Aha!” and rushed out of the room yelling “Stay there I’ll be right back!”

Arthur didn’t have to wait long before he came back with his hands behind him. “Close your eyes!” he commanded.

Arthur did as he was told with a grin on his face. There was a brief pause before he felt something go over his neck and down the back of his neck, resting on the part of his neck where his shoulders start. “Open your eyes.” When he looked down he saw a gray arrowhead tied to a strip of leather. Arthur gently held the necklace and brought the arrowhead in front of him so he could inspect it closely.

“Did you make this Matthew?”

“No, my people did. I am giving it to you for Saint Valentine’s Day! Now you will always have some of me with you so you and I could be together forever!”

“Oh Matthew…” He hugged the boy and put his face in his neck so he couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. He suddenly got an idea, so he gently pushed Matthew away and said “Wait a moment lad.” before he strode out of the room. When he came back, his hands were also behind his back. “Close your eyes.” he mocked Matthew’s childish voice.

Matthew stuck his tongue out before closing his eyes. He felt warmth wrap around his neck before Arthur told him to open his eyes. On his neck was a red scarf with a white maple leaf at both ends. The scarf was so long it trailed across the floor. “Sorry it is so long; I wanted it to last a long time. I was going to give you this at some other special occasion, but I think now is a good time as any.”

Matthew ran up, pounced on him, and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Thank you Arthur.”

Arthur wrapped his around his waist and nuzzled his hair. “And thank you Matthew for the lovely necklace.” The spent a long moment holding each other tightly before Arthur pulled away. “Come on lad, it is way past your bedtime.” Right on cue, Matthew loudly yawed and rubbed his eyes. Arthur chuckled and picked the boy up. “Let’s go to bed.”

Arthur quietly tip-toed into the boy’s shared room so as not to wake Alfred up. He silently tucked Matthew in bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night Mathew.”

“Goodnight Arthur.”

Arthur snuck out of the room and started to head back to his chair but decided to go to hit the hay. He will definitely need his sleep for tomorrow, especially considering how the boys still have chocolate left over from today. Arthur groaned.

February 14th, 1915

This isn't the first war Matthew has fought in. He was involved in plenty of others; you can't expect much else when you're a colony of Great Britain of all people. This should be just another war, but it isn't. Usually war’s are against two to maybe six countries, not the whole world! Well, maybe that’s an overstatement. There are some countries who are not involved, like Switzerland, but there has never been a war like this in history.

He remembers the day Arthur told him he was to send his military to Europe to help him in the war. He remembered multiple feelings swirling in his heart. He was happy that Arthur asked for his help, but terrified of sending his people into a war where he knows many won't come home. Then at the same time, a small part of him was annoyed at being called to fight Arthur’s war for him. He isn't a dog at his beck and call. If only he were-

Matthew snapped back to reality when a bullet whizzed by his ear. He repositioned his gun and kept firing. He didn’t stop to see where the bullet went; he didn’t want to see the face of the man he killed. It felt like hours (and it probably has been) when the resting period began. He and a group of men whose turn it was to head back to camp checked to make sure they wouldn't be shot when they left the trench and jumped out. Matthew ran back to camp with the thought of a bed to look forward to.

Once he made it to the campsite, he immediately headed towards the cafeteria. He hasn't eaten all day and he’s starving. Too busy thinking about food (sounds so Alfred-like) he didn’t notice a figure walking towards him until they hit each other.

“Oh I’m so sorry-”

“Hey! Watch where you’re going-”

They froze when they saw each other; green met purple.

“Oh Matthew! I...uh...how are you lad.”

“Arthur it’s so nice to see you! How’s the uh...how’s the war going f-for you?”

“Oh it’s uh going well I guess well as well as a war like this could be. What about you?”

“Me? Uh its alright I-I guess.”

“Good...good”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“So I have to go-”

“Oh right! I should also get going-”

“have battles to plan and all-”

“going to the cafeteria. I haven’t had a decent meal in-”

“Is that the scarf I made you?”

Matthew stopped mid sentence and his face turned redder, if possible, than it was when the conversation first started. Then what Arthur said finally caught up to him so he looked at the red scarf wrapped around his neck with a fond smile.

“Yeah, I almost didn’t want to bring it with me, because it could get ruined, but it always comforted me when I wore it and knew I would probably need all the comfort I could get.”

“I know what you mean.” Arthur walked past him, patting his shoulder on the way. “Oh,” he stopped and turned back to look at him. He reached into his shirt and pulled out an arrowhead attached to leather. “happy Saint Valentine’s Day.”

Matthew watched him walk away for a moment before he resumed his trek to the cafeteria with a bright smile on his face.

February 14th, 1916

It’s been ten months since Ypres. Matthew remembers that day like it happened yesterday. One moment he was shooting at the Germans, praying that this long battle will end soon, then the next thing he knew, an explosion went off and his people were screaming and there was pain so much pain.  Then he woke up in the medical tent. All he saw was black but he could hear people bustling around, people screaming, people crying, people yelling.

It wasn't until a month later that he heard that his people won, and he never felt more proud. He was stuck in the tent for about six months, he apparently got a high exposure of the chlorine and really he shouldn't even be alive if we was a human, before he was allowed out. They told him not to do any strenuous activity so he couldn’t go back out to the battlefield, which was both relieving and disappointing. So he spent his time helping out in the medical tent. He doesn't do anything serious like surgery but he does small things like bandaging wounds or setting up IVs.

Today started out like previous ones since he was discharged. He woke up, put in eye drops for his irritated eyes, ate breakfast, and walked into the medical tent. He waved to Sheila, an Australian nurse who became his first friend in his stay in the medical tent, then walked up to Arran to see what he could help with. The British doctor told him to check on a patient that came in late last night (or early in the morning). Walking to the bed the patient was on, he grabbed a the clipboard that had his information and some bandages. He stops at the end of the bed and his mind doesn't process anything except who was on the bed.

“Hello lad. I didn’t think I’d see you here of all places.” the man on the bed said. His voice was so weak and it hurt Matthew to hear it.

“A-Arthur! What-how-why-wh-what happened?”

Arthur’s laugh turned into a cough. Matthew spent the time examining his wounds. His head, chest, and right hand was bandaged. According to the file, there was an explosion and Arthur was close enough to get severe burns. “It was just a grenade. I got some burns but nothing to worry about.”

“But...ok.” There was an awkward pause before he finished. “So I’m just going to check your bandages.”

“Go ahead.”

They fell back into silence, but this time it was comfortable. Arthur closed his eyes and relaxed to the feel of Matthew’s hands pressed against him and just enjoying his comforting presence. Matthew was just focusing on his job, at least that’s what he’s telling himself. He isn't bushing and his hands aren’t lingering on his patient’s skin more than is needed. Sure Arthur is good looking (even with his humongous eyebrows no matter what Alfred says) and sure he might be a little bit attracted to him but that doesn't mean Matthew had a crush or anything. Of course not.

“Why are you here?”

Matthew was startled out of his thoughts. It took him a while to understand what was asked. “Oh, well...do you know what happened at Ypres?”

“Ypres? Um...oh! Oh...Matthew were you…” Matthew nodded. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright. Well my eyesight isn't what it used to be and I still can’t do strenuous activity, but I’m alright. In the end my men did what they had to do.”

“Yes, yes they did. You should be proud of them.”

What about you? Are you proud? A small voice in his head spat. “I am. Well then, it looks like your burns aren’t infected and are starting to heal already. I finished changing your bandages so all you have to do is rest for now.”

“Thank you Matthew.” He nodded and walked away only to have a hand grab his wrist. “Matthew...lad...could you do me a favor and grab something for me?”

“Of course. What do you need me to get? Is it painkillers? Because I could get you some if your in pain. Why didn’t you tell me your in pain? How badly does it hurt from a scale of one to ten? If it’s ten then-”

“Matthew, please be quiet.” Arthur laughed. Matthew couldn’t stop the heat flowing to his face even if his life depended on it. “I just need you to go to my tent. On the desk is that necklace you gave me long ago. Would you mind giving it to me? It feels weird to not have it.”

Matthew smiled and gently pat Arthur’s shoulder before walking out of the tent.

February 14th, 1917

Matthew tries to be optimistic, he does, but ever since he was allowed back on the battlefield he hasn't been in such high spirits. It feels like the war would never end. With his spirits as low as they are, it feels good to just have a talk with his old colonizer again.

Francis decided to talk to Matthew during his break. Matthew was just waking up when Francis bursts into the tent yelling at him to “get your lazy butin** out of bed”. Once he got dressed, Francis dragged him into his personal tent. Francis’ tent was bigger than his own but other than that it was the same. On the desk was two steaming plates of crepes with scrambled eggs and bacon. When Matthew asked what this was for the only answer was “It’s le Jour de Valentine***!”

The food was the best thing he ate since the war started; he even teared up a bit as he ate. He doesn't even question how he made it and where he got the food from. Once the plates were cleaned off, they set them aside and just talked. It has been a while since the countries just talked to anyone. They just relaxed and enjoyed each others company. That is until a certain British country burst into the tent yelling at a certain French country.

“-and how dare you stand me up your frog! I told you to meet me so we could discuss our battle strategy-”

“Um hi Arthur”

“Hello Matthew. So Frog, why the hell aren't you-” Arthur did a double take and stared at Matthew, making the Canadian country blush. “Oh! Matthew uh what are you doing here?”

“Me and Francis-”

“Francis and I. Matthew you know better, you’re not Alfred.”

“Sorry, Francis and I were just talking.”

“Oh well that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“So I see you’re wearing that scarf, but you know it’s not that cold.”

“I know but I like it.”

“How is it even still in such good shape? It has been a couple centuries since I gave that to you.”

“I’m not sure, but it’s a good thing you made it too long for me back then or I wouldn't be able to still wear it now.”

“Yeah, good thinking on my part. Haha...ha.”

The blushing countries didn’t even notice when a smirking France snuck out of the tent chuckling.

“So...uh”

“Happy Saint Valentine’s Day!”

“Oh yeah! It’s February isn't it? I've been losing track of the months lately.”

“So have I. It wasn't until papa- I mean Francis told me.”

“...”

“...”

“Have I- did you hate me when I took you from him.”

Matthew had to sit down for the conversation that he knew was going to happen. “Yes at first. I didn’t understand why I had to leave, I was happy with him, but the more time I spent with you, and Alfred, and Steven****, and everyone, the more I hated you less and less and eventually I...”

“You what?”

“I started to...uh...like you more.” If he kept this up, Matthew was afraid that his face would permanently be red. Arthur couldn't help but blush too with Matthew’s confession and with how cute he looked.

“That’s good.”

“...”

“So I have to go and find the frog.”

“Oh yes.”

“So Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“‘Yes you too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Arthur hesitated before he walked up to Matthew and kissed his forehead. “Bye.” Then he briskly strides out. He and Francis needs to have words. Hopefully that would help him erase Matthew’s face when he kissed him. On the forehead he reminds himself.

February 14th, 1918

No matter what has happened in the past, Matthew and Alfred will always be brothers. As brothers they have the right to tease each other and push each other’s buttons. Which is why when  Matthew first saw Alfred after he heard he joined the war, he knew it was his job to make fun of him for taking forever to join. Matthew briefly wondered why every Valentine’s Day he sees a nation.

He and Alfred sit in the cafeteria and tell each other about what has been going on. Matthew talks about his success at Vimy and how hard Passchendaele was. Alfred talked about how nice neutrality was and how angry he and his people were when Germany started sinking his submarines. They moved on from the depressing topics and just talked about whatever. It started to feel a lot like a repeat of last year with Francis and Matthew was expecting (hoping) Arthur would burst into the cafeteria and interrupt the conversation. He hasn't had a conversation since last year; he’s seen him around occasionally but he still misses him. Matthew touched his neck where a red scarf with white maple leaves at the ends should’ve been. Alfred asked about his sad face and Matthew told him about the scarf. This led to an argument they have had many times once Alfred started thinking about independence. Alfred would ask why he’s still with Arthur and try to convince him to be completely independent. Matthew would defend Arthur and tell him the reasons why he is content with staying with him. During the argument Matthew realized that the more he debates with his brother about whether or not he should become independent, the more he starts to agree with him.

When the argument got really serious, Alfred spontaneously grabbed Matthew and dragged him out of the tent with the excuse of needing to walk around. They walked around the camp, forgetting the argument and chatted about other things, when they saw him. Matthew noticed him from his emerald green eyes, Alfred noticed him from his gigantic eyebrows. Matthew looked at his brother with pleading eyes and Alfred rolled his.

“Arthur!” Matthew called. Said Brit jumped a foot in the air and wildly looked for the source of the voice before seeing the brothers. He smiled at Matthew and glared at Alfred. Both boys smiled.

“Mathew, Alfred.”

Alfred ran up to his former colonizer and attempted to give him a hug, but Arthur side stepped, causing the representative of the US to fall on his face.

“Hello Arthur. How have you been?”

“Fine.” A gust of cold wind blew around them. “My god it’s freezing. Matthew you need more layers. Where’s your scarf?”

Matthew looked down guiltily. “I-I lost it.”

Arthur doesn't know why that bothered him.

And just like last time they don’t notice when Matthew’s companion leaves, except this time said companion doesn't leave by himself. A certain Frenchman drags him away, talking about how the love birds need a moment alone and chuckling with a look that scares the american.

“What happened?”

“It was when I was in Passchendaele. There was so much confusion and a man was attacking me. He pulled my scarf and it come off and blew away in the wind. I’m so sorry Arthur! I didn't mean to lose it. I-”

“Matthew, it’s alright.”

“But-”

“Listen, I don’t care about the scarf,” That’s somewhat of a lie. “I only care about your safety. I’m glad that it was the scarf that was lost and not your life.” Now that, without a doubt, was the truth.

“Arthur I...thank you.”

“It’s no trouble lad. I have to go, I’m supposed to meet the generals now.”

“Oh I’m sorry if I made you late!”

“Don’t be silly. I enjoy talking with you.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll just be on my way now.”  Matthew walked towards him, for what he wasn't sure, but he tripped. Arthur caught him on instinct but wasn't expecting the weight and ended up tripping. Unfortunately (fortunately) Matthew’s lips slammed into Arthur’s.

The countries layed there frozen in shock. Both of their eyes were wide, both of their blond hair tangled together, and both of their breaths mixed together. Then Arthur felt a bit of pressure on is  lips. He wanted to give in, but he pushed Matthew away. “I-I-I Have t-to g-go. Um good-goodbye.”

Arthur ran away leaving Matthew on the floor.

July 1st, 1982*****

This is one of the most exciting day of Matthew’s life. In a few moments, the Canada Act will be in effect and he will finally be completely independent. Finally people will know his name.  Finally his accomplishments will be recognized as his own. Finally he could do whatever he wants and won't have to follow anyone else's orders. He looked around the room for Arthur. When he saw him, Arthur was looking back. Matthew’s smile slipped off his face.

Arthur looked miserable. His eyes were red, his hair was more unruly than usual, and his frown was so deep it looked permanent. Matthew had the urge to stop this whole thing, run to him, and tell him that he won't leave never leave as he embraced him. Then he remembers how Arthur rejected him, left him sitting on a ground, and the urge was gone. Arthur doesn't want what you want he tells himself. He doesn't love you the way you love him.

  Once the law was officially passed, Matthew walked out of the building, ignoring Arthur's calls of his name.

Matthew disappeared before Arthur could get to him. Arthur comes to a stop and just watches as his former colony leaves without saying anything. Was it something I did? Matthew, were you that anxious to leave me?

Sighing sadly, Arthur walked back in the building to find his boss. He knew pushing him away was the right choice. It’s obvious that Matthew doesn't love Arthur the way he loves him.

Present

As usual, nothing gets done at the world meeting. Arthur is in the middle of arguing with the frog, something about food or money. He’s not really focusing on the argument, he just let himself go on autopilot, he’s too busy trying to keep his  nerves down. A couple months ago he was cleaning out his attic (hearing Alfred talk about cleaning his own, he thought it was a good idea) when he saw an old necklace. It was a gray arrowhead tied to a strip of leather. He thought he lost it years ago. This then reminded him of the day he received it from a shy little boy. How excited he was to give it to him and how his face lit up when Arthur gave him the scarf. This led to many more memories which brought on the idea to do what he was going to do.

Germany took control of the meeting and declared it over. All the countries stopped what they were doing and walked out of the meeting room. Arthur searched the room for a moment when he saw who he was looking for. “Matthew.” He called but the blond kept walking away. Arthur huffed and chased after him. “Hey Matthew. Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking-”

“Um Arthur?” said a quiet voice from behind him.

Arthur turned around so fast he swore he got whiplash. “Wait, Matthew? But I saw you in front of me.”

“That was Alfred.”

“...oh. Bloody hell you two look so similar.”

“So what did you want?”

“I uh brought you something.” He said as he thrusted a box in Matthew’s hand.

“Oh, really? Thank you.” Matthew impatiently tore opened the box and pulled out the item. “Oh!” In his hands was a red scarf with a white maple leaf on both ends. Matthew’s eyes started to water as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. He caressed the soft scarf and looked at Arthur. “Thank you. I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is good.”

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Matthew smiled at him and hugged him. Arthur stiffened at the contact but relaxed immediately after. Matthew pulled away but kept his arms on his forearms. “Do you maybe want to go out to eat with me or something?” He asked, looking everywhere but at Arthur.

With a fond smile he said “Of course.”

Matthew’s lit up, just like he did as a kid, and dragged him out of the building, babbling about a restaurant he passed by on the way to the meeting that he wanted to try. The whole time Arthur’s smile never left.

“I think they serve French cuisine but I’m not sure. I hope you don’t mind-”

“Matthew.” Both countries came to a stop. “I was just wondering...how...do you feel...about me?”

Matthew looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well I mean-I just-I...damn it.”

He pulled Matthew toward him. Matthew looked at him in curiosity but the look changed to surprise as a pair of lips pressed against his own. He moved his hands on Arthur’s chest to push him away, just like Arthur did on that day, but Arthur held him closer and deepened the kiss. Matthew gave up and opened his mouth to let the probing tongue in. He could taste Earl Gray, Arthur’s favorite tea, and a hint of sugar. When Arthur was sure Matthew wasn't going to pull away, he let his hands wander his body. Matthew let one hand tangle in the choppy blond hair while the other moved around his back.

When they pulled apart, panting, they just looked in each other’s eyes, smiled, grabbed each other’s hand and walked to the restaurant.

Sorry this took so long! I tried to submit it on the 14th but you know, life happens. This was a challenge since I've never written a Hetalia fanfic before. I hope you liked it. Sorry if it sucked.

*Excuse me (French)

**Booty (French)

***Valentine’s Day (French)

****Steven=Australia

*****I don’t know exactly what day this would’ve taken place so I just chose this one.