jizo is upside-down.

“it’s giogio!”  bouncy cow baby time!! littlest lambabiest leaps from the piano bench onto ivory keys, fanfaring his entrance with some literal cacophony. he is more than elated to see his favorite fratellone, and unspoken between them all, there really is no question—lambo will be going home with giorno today. so he bounces some more.  “it’s lambo-san’s very! own! giogio! the bestest giogio in the whole world, yeah! gioooo~gio!” 

from his own seat, hibari paid no mind to the child. he receives don giovanna in perfect hibari fashion, which was nothing if never straight to the point. “the little one has been—”

“GOOOOLDEN WIND!” 

another piano riff amidst the bouncy dancing, the sound bizarrely dramatic this time around. no matter. kyouya speaks over it.

hibari goes to hell. oh, how they play: a heady gaze here, a lingering touch there; in their bizarre tango they have discovered where they mesh, discovered their addictions to each other, and oh, bruno buccellati is so agreeable that it hurts. but it doesn’t, because nothing hurts hibari kyouya, not even the sway of bruno’s hips or the handsome chime of his low laugh. hibari is insurmountable, immovable, unyielding. hibari is discipline firmly packed, hibari is bulletproof, hibari is yanking the front of bruno’s collar—

“bruno buccellati,”  purrs kyouya, tongue silk and silver with its mephistophelean lull. his fistful of fabric leaves the black slip exposed, and as he pulls bruno even closer, his free hand traces the lingerie, following its patterns while hibari holds his stare.  “don’t you think that’s enough?”

“this is the third time.”  hibari points out, in their language at that, twisting the weathered key into the lock of her cell. zhou daozi is a mild troublemaker. the first arrest had been a noise complaint; the second, trespassing. the third he knew not, for he had not made it himself, but took the liberty to process when called to the station—herbivores, the lot of them, so scared of the unfamiliar; in this case, a strong-willed woman.

the flash of tonfa is lightning-quick, metal glint and flicker of flame dazzling under the midday sun. they both know bruno buccellati is sharper than that, too sharp for this. he is sharp enough to duck hibari’s left hook, and he is sharp enough to pick pockets without a trace. when kyouya feels the flattering graze against his back pocket, his eyes darken like the daggers they are, all black obsidian beneath quicksilver polish.

hibari is not without his own wiles, however. where bruno buccellati smirks at him, familiar wallet dangling from his sticky fingers, hibari seals their distance in an agile swivel. the bit of fancy footwork backs the other to the wall, and in the next second he is pressed up against bruno in a manner few could dub professional. tonfa to the man’s throat, kyouya takes flashing, fleeting stock in how pitifully bare it is—and what they just might do about it.

the mishmash of tobacco and catchpenny perfume thick in his face did not a happy hibari make. air heady with them both, he wrinkled his nose as he sidled along the taupe slant of the wall, averse of the raucous that engulfed the velvet table lineup. cards and chips flicked from all directions among the verdant green. in contrast the slot machines sat cold, brooding lightboxes in thin company―they yielded drier luck today, he gathered―and all the better such that he would be spared their cacophonous trills. before long he came upon a winding hallway that tunneled into gratifying quiescence, then a heavy door among humbler others. the half courtesy was above him, but he rapped his knuckles against the surface just once before pressing on, his footsteps lined with purpose.

the faint scowl on his face was not his usual one of tight-lipped dispassion, though few would have discerned as much without some scrutiny. the door swung inward and, face to the window, there he stood.  “sawada tsunayoshi.”

hibari hears all through the grapevine. most recent of the talk had been that decimo had not been feeling himself. the news was vague to most, unsettling to others, but he knew better than to fret. though he oft left these petty affairs to that pesky right hand, kyouya had been near enough to deliver an in-person inspection. sawada tsunayoshi; what is going on in that mind of his?