(no subject)

[volatiletempest]

[continuation from this meme]

He couldn't be bothered to make him comfortable.

The room had been a spare guestroom, but he'd never had any guests. Probably because he never invited anyone to his apartment pad. Actually, he'd kept that particular habit since his youth. He didn't exactly know why, but he supposed it was simply because no one had ever asked. Of course, given his current situation, he was rather glad everyone had respected his privacy enough not to question him about his home address. He didn't need them seeing something or, more appropriately, someone he didn't want them to see. Anyway, it was pretty bare except for the queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a small walk-in closet. The windows and walls had been reconstructed to withstand anything from bullets to explosives. He had spent quite a fortune redesigning the interior of his pad. It was a pride of his.

During the trip back to his place, Gokudera had blindfolded the newest addition to his household (for many reasons). He'd then set him down on top of the mattress and proceeded to gently tuck him in. Afterward, he'd exited the sleeping quarter to busy himself with dinner. He didn't pay any mind to his guest again until the following morning. It was a simple check up — a careful look over the wounds, a quick dab of the body with a wet cloth, and a cup of soup with a nice straw to suck on. He'd left the house minutes later. His job always came first and he knew very well his roommate would remain bedridden for a long, long while. He needed the rest. It was inevitable.

His shift ended early. Late afternoon, to be specific. He returned to his apartment with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his tie loosened haphazardly around his neck. It'd been a short, but tiring day. Draping his coat over the back of a chair, his gaze slowly traveled across the living area to the closed door where his guest laid. A lazy smile began to manifest on his pale feature at the remembrance. Perhaps, he should pay him a visit. He entered the bedroom without a single warning.

"Come ti senti, Mukuro Rokudo?"

Comments

[serpente]

Sometime after Gokudera had left to attend to his duties, the half cup of soup Mukuro had not managed to drink had somehow ended up spilt across the bedsheets and the floor. The illusionist had managed to extricate his good arm from the blankets and lift up his blindfold to see the damage, but was too weak to take any measures to clean it up. So for hours he had lain in bed with the tempting smell of soup lingering in the room, causing his stomach to growl at intervals. With no other sustenance provided by the Storm, Mukuro had tried to conserve energy by sleeping, merging thoughts with Chrome to explain his absence. Still confident of his ability to see Gokudera's strange disciplinary game through, he left out the less bloody details of their encounter for now and assured her he was being taken care of.

Hearing a door open and shut, then footsteps, he opened his eyes and pulled away from Chrome's presence. His broken nose forced him to breathe through his mouth, which had left his lips quite dry by the time Gokudera returned. Licking those lips, he rasped a reply.

"Peggio ancora, per vedere il tuo viso," he said. Eyes lidded with contempt, he carefully rolled on to his side and presented his shoulder to the other Guardian.

[volatiletempest]

What a mess.

His brows knitted together with disapproval, so absorbed with examining the scene that he even ignored the comment. "Qualcuno è stato cattivo," he noted lightly, tugging the rest of his tie off, "Devo insegnare come bere bene?" Approaching the bed, Gokudera returned the look of contempt forthrightly, reaching out to collect the man's fragile wrists. "C'è qualcosa che vuoi dirmi?"

Putting his arms around his neck, he scooped him up before he had the chance to answer. He was going to have to clean everything up which meant he'd have to move him to another room for the time being. It was hard to repress a sigh since he'd wanted to spend the rest of the day in peace. But, no, of course Mukuro had to go and cause trouble. It was completely unacceptable, yet he decided to give him a chance — a chance to redeem himself for his clumsiness.

[serpente]

"È caduto." As if he would deliberately knock over a cup of soup that he had every intention of drinking. Regaining his strength was imperative to escaping this place, else it would simply become a more comfortable, more painful version of his cell in Vendice prison (he was already considering the worst case scenario - where he would need the help of his apprentice and his subordinates).

Oh, but Gokudera wanted him to say sorry for spilling it all over his nice furniture, didn't he? Well, Mukuro was not feeling inclined to give it to him. Yesterday had surprised him; today he was mentally prepared. He would do what he did best: wait, watch, then make his move when opportunity favoured him.

[volatiletempest]

And his intuition was right.

As the seconds ticked by, his impatience grew. He didn't have as much tolerance today as he had the day prior. Exhaustion wasn't exactly something that helped with the mood. Contrarily, it only increased frustration even more than necessary. And, in order to demonstrate his lack of patience that afternoon, Gokudera dropped him. Right on the ground. Without a single word. Shoving him aside with his leg like he was some sort of dirty mutt, he gathered up the soaked sheets to carry over to the laundry machine.

"Woops," he said flatly, as he headed towards the door, "My bad."

[serpente]

Thud! Mukuro hissed. The drop left more bruises on his lower back and jarred the elbow he put out to break his fall. Break his fall? It felt more like the impact was threatening to break his elbow instead. After being rolled aside by Gokudera's foot, he struggled to raise himself up. But his skeletal, violently shaking arms gave way and he was forced to lay on the floor where he had been casually deposited, breathing laboured.

The illusionist shut his eyes and counts to and back from one hundred, alternating languages between each number while he takes the pain and isolates it within his mind, to be dealt with later. He considers crawling to the next room, except that would make him look even more like the worm that Gokudera is treating him as. Then his jaw tightens, resolve strengthens, and he decides to crawl anyway since it's better than looking defeated by a rough drop.

It hurts though. Every single muscle screaming in protest as he forces his body to slide, wriggle, push himself across the floor. The friction against his skin is almost as bad as the prickling invasive feeling of Storm flames, especially when patches of skin previously marred by those flames are touched upon.

[volatiletempest]

He deposited the soiled bed sheets into the washer, a hand simultaneously reaching for his pack of cigarettes. But they weren’t there. He’d left them in his jacket. Releasing an aggravated sigh, the silverette started up the machine before he made his way back to the living room. He should probably do his other laundry too while he was at it. Slipping his hand into the inner coat pocket, he slid the small plastic box of Marlboro out, removing one of the thin tubes. Smoking was another habit he’d kept from his youth. Of course, it was much more difficult to break away from than simply keeping his address a secret.

It was hard for him to open up and trust people. Sure, he put his complete faith in the Tenth. But he couldn’t say the same for anyone else. Actually, in a lot of ways, even the Tenth didn’t understand him fully. He never did. Not that it really mattered. He had someone else now, but there was not much hope placed in him either. The only reason why he’d brought him back to his apartment was because he couldn’t possibly leave him alone anymore. It was beyond his control now after what had occurred just the previous day. Plus, it was a simple fact that Mukuro Rokudo just needed him. He was completely hopeless otherwise.

Take what he was doing at the moment. He had been gone for barely a couple of minutes and now he was wriggling across the floor like the pathetic heap of a mess that he was. The man couldn’t even drink from a cup with a straw. If he didn’t need him, then the world surely must have gone mad. “That’s not how you do the Worm,” he commented, taking a step over him as if he was a pile of trash in the middle of the road, “Are your clothes wet?” He crouched down to pick up the fallen cup, his eyes scanning for the areas where the liquid had most likely spilt. He needed to go fetch his mop and bucket from the closet. What a drag.

[serpente]

"No," he groused, reaching up to the arm of an armchair. He was already exhausted and his fingers slid off the fabric several times before he could get a grip on the rounded edge. Even then, he almost lost his hold again trying to pull his body upright. Only one arm was of any use to him, and it strained to lift him up enough that he could tuck his legs beneath him and begin to make an attempt to stand. Mukuro was forced to rest slumped over the chair's arm while he caught his breath and recouped some of his strength.

When this was over and he had recovered, he would repay Gokudera many-fold for his treatment of him. Mukuro had no desire to reform himself. He did not need anyone to do it for him. In fact he rather liked the irony in existing as such a depraved, spiteful being who took perverse pleasure in crushing individuals just like himself. Wasn't it often said: 'It takes one to know one'? He was the dark side of the Family which Tsuna needed; the one who understood the filthy underhanded tricks humans used to further their own wants. Gokudera was only going to ruin his effectiveness at his role through this 'discipline'.

[volatiletempest]

It was no longer a matter of mere “discipline”. Yes, he will continue to train him. He will teach him basic etiquettes and the essential communication skills needed to interact with other people accordingly out in society. However, it wouldn’t stop just there. He had new intentions for him. Considering he didn’t want what he'd done to be let out into the open, Gokudera couldn’t risk the chance of freeing him without precautions. He had to make him understand that they needed each other now, that there was no way they could go back to how everything was before yesterday’s visitation. Either they take one another down in the process or they learn to accept fate for what it was – and this was fate.

Mukuro had always belonged to him even before he himself had actually realized it. But, now that he’s really given it some thought, it made sense. They were perfect for each other. They were similar in so many ways. It was like they were born to be together. Unfortunately, obstacles were constantly a part of life. The bomber might have realized it now, but there was still an inevitable hate between them – a hate that couldn’t be swept under the rug after only two days. They needed time. And, since the illusionist was clearly not ready to cooperate yet, his first step would have to be to drill it into his head. He was certain that, once he comprehended the purpose for their obligated coexistence, all the pieces will eventually fall into their proper places.

But, for the time being, there remained a ways to go – at least, far longer than cleaning up the soup. That was taken care of within a couple more minutes. “You must be hungry,” he regarded him after he’d put away the supplies, “If you say ‘please,’ I’ll reheat some more soup for you to drink.” Maybe if he was direct about what he wanted from him, he’d listen better. It was worth a shot.

[serpente]

Fate? Had Gokudera made even one mention of it, Mukuro would have laughed right in his face. There was no such thing. That there existed parallel worlds shaped by the infinite possibilities of personal choices available to the several billion human beings on this earth disproved any such notion. Gokudera had chosen to enter his room and break his wrist; Mukuro had chosen to retaliate.

Still, that was of little comfort to the illusionist who had to live with said choice. At least this was nothing like being trapped in Byakuran's office, where even thought had been unable to leave. Chrome was out there somewhere, easily contactable if need be, and through her, Tsuna.

"I'm not hungry," he told the Storm, not wanting to give the man any satisfaction. His stomach growled quietly at him but he ignored it. He should eat but he figured he could make his own soup the next time Gokudera was out.

[volatiletempest]

“Suit yourself.” It was less work for him all in all.

He didn’t care about what Mukuro believed in one way or another. He could scoff and ridicule as much as he wanted to, but it wouldn’t change a single thing. Not that he was going to precisely word it as such anyway. Action had proven to be a more impressive contender when it came to teaching the Mist Guardian.

With the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, Gokudera turned his attention to the awkward position his guest was in. That just wouldn’t do at all, now would it? It was admittedly an amusing sight to behold, however – the once powerful illusionist now a limp noodle on an armchair. He had half a mind to leave him there to his own workings, but he didn’t want to have to cater to him later on if anything… misfortunate should happen.

Gathering him into his arms once more, he presented him with a satisfied smile as he carried him over to his bed. "Vuoi andare a dormire?” He laid him slowly on top of the changed comforter, careful not to hurt him. The time will come when he’d realize exactly how good he was to him. Time and patience was all that was needed.

Time and patience.

[serpente]

"Io non sono un infante," he replied acidly. As soon as he had been laid on the bed, he summoned a pigeon and sent the startled bird at Gokudera's face, continuing, "You cannot keep me in your apartment. Let me go and I won't mention a word of this to Tsunayoshi."

Because he doubted that Tsuna would condone one of his Guardians keeping another Guardian in these circumstances. Gokudera had to be doing this in secret, though what excuse he'd given to the Vongola Mukuro was very interested to know.

[volatiletempest]

And he’d almost thought the day would end pleasantly.

Mukuro just had to mention the Tenth, didn’t he? He just had to threaten him with telling the Tenth about their little situation, didn’t he? Well, he wasn’t going to have any of it. He didn’t bode well with blackmail especially when said blackmail concerned his Boss; not to mention, this was supposed to be strictly personal between them. No one else had the right or the need to intrude on their relationship. He'd prevent it at all costs if it was the last thing he'd do.

His hand instantly slammed down around the frail man’s exposed neck, fingers digging into the tender skin. “Ascoltami, minchione,” he whispered menacingly into his ear, “Anche se si trova un modo per dirgli, io ti ucciderò prima che qualcuno possa venire a salvarvi. Mi hai sentito? Ti porterò nella tomba stramaledetto con me.” He was completely serious too. Or, at least, that's what his current lack of tolerance for bullshit meter was pointing out in big, fat red letters to him.

[serpente]

A choking sound came from his throat, Mukuro's hand futilely trying to relieve the pressure on his windpipe. "I don't understand," he managed to force out in a whisper. He really didn't - even if Gokudera claimed this to be some form of discipline, or whatever it had become now, he couldn't understand the reasoning behind it. The Storm hadn't given one shit about his behaviour before - at least not to such an abusive extent. Had the man actually been patient enough to wait until the illusionist was weak and unable to fight back with more than words?

"Ho già detto a Chrome," he managed to continue. "Così si può anche ottenere questo tutto finito."

[volatiletempest]

“You don’t need to understand.”

He didn’t. All he needed to know was that his interest in him was genuine. The why, when, and how were unimportant because what matter was the now. But, clearly, the now wasn’t enough anymore. Now, the future had to be put into consideration – not that he hadn’t already thought it over carefully. He’d always known Mukuro could communicate with Chrome. It was old news. When he’d decided to bring him back to his place, he'd known there was a good chance the illusionist would inform her of his current circumstance and, inevitably, his whereabouts.

He just hadn’t figured he’d be stupid enough to tell him so forthrightly because now he was forced into a position where he’d have to make a difficult decision. There were a number of options he could pick from. First of all, as Mukuro wished, he could take his life away at that very instance. But Chrome would remain an issue to be dealt with. He could eliminate her too, but then he might as well keep Mukuro alive from the start. Secondly, continuing from the previous speculation, he could kill Chrome and cover up her murder (since their work was pretty risk in general) – except for the fact that he rather liked her and he doubt it’d help progress his relationship with Mukuro much. Or, thirdly, and finally, in a possibly more win-win scenario, he could simply explain to Mukuro all the choices he could make and see if it might snap him out of doing any further regrettable acts because he really didn't want to take drastic measures. It would be unseemly.

Guess he’ll reason with him then. A warning was better than nothing, after all. He had a feeling Mukuro didn't want to die either, given his reaction to his threats yesterday. Of course, it didn't mean he'd loosen his grip on him. It felt very soothing.

[serpente]

Mukuro didn't trust the way those fingers eased off digging into his throat. Experience told him it was a precursor to worse treatment, so he prepared to retreat within himself, into an imagined world where all senses including pain were dulled. He didn't like to distance himself for too long from his physical body as the temptation to sink permanently into the illusionary world was great. Falling into a coma while he was in Gokudera's care was not a scenario he cared to have happen.

Twisting his head from side to side, he tried to move away from the Storm's hand but remained quite firmly pinned to the bed by it. The vulnerable position irked him; it was like pinning the head of the snake down in order to prevent it from striking with its fangs. The rest of its body might writhe and wriggle, but it could do very little on its own.

It's just as well I'm not a snake. Though for how long? All Gokudera would have to do was break his other limbs and he'd be helpless. What was the use of an illusion if he couldn't move? Storm flames disintegrated them easily. Whatever the other man decided to do from here on, it would decide whether Mukuro would feign complacency, or if he would keep fighting. He'd struggled enough to make his transition to the former less suspicious, he thought.

WHY HELLO THERE. I did not take forever to respond to this, oh no. 8]

[volatiletempest]

He explained it to him. He drew out the details very carefully and presented a clear picture of each possible scenario. None of them ended well for the illusionist except for one. Gokudera doubted it would seem like an improvement to him, but it was the better choice out of all the rest. “So,” he finished off with a serious look in his eyes, “why don’t we try to cooperate with each other a little more?” Lowering himself down until he was right next to his ear, he breathed softly into it, his lips curving slightly, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up finding it… enjoyable.”

He finally released him from his grasp, his hand reaching up to rub the side of his neck. “Unless you really want to die, of course.” A glance, a shrug, and then the revealing of a devilish smile. He was at it again, messing with him as if he actually had a choice. It was obvious to the both of them that he didn’t, that the only choices were either life or death. “Which I can grant since I’m such a nice guy.” His hand was consumed by flames again, a fiery red color that burned brightly in the dimly lit room. “But I can promise you one thing,” he said, a sadistic glint entering into his green hues, “I won’t make it quick.” Given what he could have done to him the day before, it was a promise he could definitely keep.

[tofufu]

Mukuro wrenched his head away with a poorly concealed whimper. The flames licked at his eat, at his hair, taunting him with the promise of searing agony. He glanced at the other man's red-lit eyes, saw the intent behind the words and believed Gokudera meant what he threatened. Even if such pain would be no different to what he'd suffered through the cycle of rebirth, he disliked the thought of being seen in such a disgusting state. Because if the Storm did his work properly, he'd be begging to die before he was done.

It didn't take him long to make his decision, though he hoped he looked reluctant and angry enough to convince Gokudera of its sincerity. "I'm only complying until I recover," he hisses at him. "As soon as I can wrap my hands around your throat...I'll kill you."

Because it wouldn't be convincing if he didn't declare his intentions beforehand, would it? He made promises, and he kept them.

(Mostly.)

[volatiletempest]

“Go to sleep.”

He was pleased. It was evident in his tone even if his expression had returned to one of indifference. He had enough of the conversation for tonight. Instead of staying in the room any longer than necessary, he wanted to spend the rest of the evening in relaxation. Maybe he’ll make himself a hot beverage and read a book while he waited for the laundry to be done. It was still a bit too early for dinner, but he could probably get started on it afterward.

With that thought in mind, he turned on the heel of his foot, heading straight for the door without another word. The door shut behind him with a soft click as he left his guest once more to his own doings. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a better day. He’ll be less tired, more energized. Then, perhaps he will begin the lesson he had in mind for Mukuro. Guess he had to start strategizing now, huh?

[serpente]

Might as well, he thought, rolling on to his side with a shudder of relief. He had to recover his strength, fling off his weakness of hypersensitive skin so that there was less to threaten him with. There were no shackles to hold him in this room. Mukuro would bide his time and do his best to conceal the extent of his returning strength. Then when he could, he would turn the tables on the Storm and escape.

The illusionist's eyes drifted shut as he mentally nodded to himself. It would work. It had before. After all, blurring the distinction between illusions and reality was his forte. He could be a very good actor.

...in which Day 3 commences.

[volatiletempest]

It was finally the day before the weekend started.

There was something about Friday that really brought a guy's spirit up. It was probably because he got to get off of work early. Then again, his occupation was pretty lax in general. It wasn't like he was obligated to shift through files and strategize for hours on end every single day. No, he was a workaholic by choice.

But, strangely enough, now that he had someone waiting for him back at home, he didn't feel like doing overtime. He needed to return to his guest. As he had done yesterday, Gokudera had left Mukuro to his own devices, except, this time, he'd made sure to fix the soup problem by putting it in a baby bottle he'd kept from Lambo's younger years.

It was still early afternoon when he entered the once empty apartment. He felt much more energized than yesterday since he decided not to overdo it today. Now, he was more than ready to spend time with his house guest. They needed to bond — or, at least, he wanted to teach Mukuro a few more basic lessons on politesse. With maybe a bit of reviewing. It never hurt to review.

"Siete stati buoni?" The question slipped out genially as he opened the door to the Mist's room.

[serpente]

When Mukuro had woken, sometime before noon, and seen the baby bottle filled with soup standing on his bedside table, his first instinct was to knock the thing away.

Thankfully, Mukuro had learned never to act upon his first emotional reaction to something. The baby bottle did not suffer from being flung away, and Mukuro instead presented his back to the bottle. He stayed like that for the entire day, trying to ignore the growling of his stomach and the temptation to turn back around and reach for the bottle. It was stupid - even the illusionist acknowledged that. He needed any sustenance he could get if he wanted to recover.

When he heard the door open and close, some hours later, he closed his eyes. By now he was both thirsting and starving and did not want to move from where he lay.

"Vada via."

[volatiletempest]

His eyes flickered from the thin figure on the bed to the bottle of untouched soup on the nightstand. How typical it was of Mukuro to deny his own stomach for his pride. Releasing a small sigh, Gokudera rubbed the back of his neck wearily as he closed the door to the sleeping quarter behind him. “Perché non mangi?” He asked, already knowing the answer. “Non hai mangiato per due giorni. Hai intenzione di morire di fame te stesso?”

Walking over to the small table, he picked up the plastic feeder, an unreadable expression on his face. It was cold to the touch. But of course it was. He’d left it hot early this morning since he’d suspected it would cool down to an appropriate temperature by the time the Mist woke up. Guess his attentiveness was all in vain. “Io vado a riscaldare di nuovo su,” he stated coolly as a red flame spread from his fingertips to the bottle, “e si sta andando a berlo, quindi girare e mi faccia.”

[serpente]

Mukuro bit his lip (gently) as the promising whiff of hot soup drifted by his nostrils. He didn't have to look at Gokudera's expression to know that it was a subtle threat and he already knew what options were available to him: if he continued to be stubborn, the man would simply force the liquid down his throat by holding his nose; if he complied, he'd avoid choking on soup. Those weren't his only choices, of course, but Mukuro couldn't imagine the rest deviating too far from those two.

He closed his eyes and inwardly cringed as his stomach gnawed at him. He really was very hungry and desperate for something other than that disgusting diet he'd been fed through tubes at Vendicare prison. "In prima luogo prendere tappo ridicolo che fuori la bottiglia." Mukuro would not be treated like an infant.

[volatiletempest]

It was almost funny how he’d given the command like he honestly thought Gokudera would actually listen to him. He wasn’t the one in charge at the moment. He had no right to be making requests or demands when he was in such a subservient position. Choosing to ignore him, he knelt down on top of the mattress with one leg, hovering over him. His hand reached out to force him onto the flat of his back, his other one tilting the tip of the bottle down. Then, without a single word, he shoved it directly between his lips.

He was in too good of a mood to let an argument sour it. If Mukuro wanted to give him an attitude, then he was perfectly fine with overstepping his bounds to get him to comply (willingly or not). Maybe his approach had to have some sort of balance between kindness and ruthlessness. Giving one more due credit than the other clearly wasn’t going to work, not when it came to the illusionist. He seriously didn’t want to repeat what he’d done to him in the abandoned factory, but he wasn’t completely adverse to the idea of returning to that form of treatment either. It had worked. To some extent.

All he knew was that he shouldn’t waver in his resolve just because he wanted to be gentler toward him until he healed. He’d admittedly gone a little too out of control with the torture session. Not that it was entirely his fault. Impulsive decisions, touchy subjects.

[serpente]

Mukuro's throat closed up on instinct. He choked on the hot liquid, some of it dribbling past his lips and down his jaw before he managed to open up his throat again and start swallowing. Even then he nearly really did choke as it hit the back of his throat with unexpected suddenness, and his body thrashed beneath Gokudera's for a few seconds before settling. Small coughs continued to wrack him as he drank, but drink he did. Once he'd gotten the taste of proper, warm food on his tongue he found he didn't want to stop drinking until he'd consumed every last drop. There was a moment, when he realised that he was sucking from an empty cup, where a flicker of genuine disappointment that there hadn't been more showed upon his face.

"Enough." The illusionist pushed the cup back with a flimsy arm, voice rough. He winced at the twinge from his broken wrist as he did so, forced the near-sickening heaviness of his stomach back, and glared up at Gokudera. The half-healed burns scattered over his body still hurt like hell and his face still felt like it had been flattened. If the bones Gokudera had broken two days ago weren't set soon, they would heal crooked. "Why are you wearing such a ridiculous smile?" The Storm looked unusually pleased with himself, and not, Mukuro thought, because of this feeding.

[volatiletempest]

“Do I need a reason to be in a good mood?”

He examined the empty bottle with a pleased expression as he set it down on top of the nightstand beside the bed. “But I’m glad you care enough to ask,” he continued, keeping up the pleasantries, “It’s the start of the weekend and do you know what that means?” The silverette hovered over him, his grin growing sly, “It means...”

He straightened back up with one sudden movement, swiping the plastic container off of the steel surface. The silence hung thick in the air until he’d reached the exit to the bedroom. “We’re going to have a wonderful weekend together.”

Disappearing through the door, he was back almost as quickly as he had left – with a gift in hand. “We never had a chance to catch up, did we?” After all, he had sort of barged into that empty factory on a whim. And, well, what had happened afterward was just... a necessary first step in their relationship. “Let’s start fresh,” he said, setting down the box he’d carried in, “A new beginning.” He seated himself. “You know why I did what I'd done. Or, at least, I hope you do. So, let’s avoid,” he made a gesture toward his injuries, “all that from now on. I really don’t want to hurt you and, look, I even brought a peace offering.”

See? Kindness. He was going to be nice if the illusionist stayed obedient. And, since he did such a splendid job finishing his food, he was going to reward him by disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. It wasn’t like he could bear the thought of leaving him a mess. They were going to be committed to each other from here on out and it was the very least he could do. Plus, his spirit just seemed to be growing steadily by the minute.

[serpente]

Mukuro narrowed his eyes. The Storm's bipolar behaviour constantly threw him, but there was consistency in what appeared to be his motive. At least as far as recovering was concerned, he and Gokudera shared the same goal, though he was sure they had very different ideas about how events would proceed afterwards. Mukuro had every intention of escaping the first available chance he was given. If those sexual overtones were anything to go by, Gokudera had something more intimate in mind for the long term.

Normally the Mist wouldn't refuse an advance. But when alarm bells rung in his mind, he had learned to respect them and take precautions.

"Do I know why you broke into my room and began to break me in" - literally break him in - "like a wild animal? No, I do not. I can only assume you yourself were abused as a child and thus try to pass on that treatment to those weaker than yourself."

This speech delivered in a cool (though raspy) voice, the illusionist watched the box Gokudera had brought in as if he expected needles filled with poison to inhabit it. Which wasn't entirely ridiculous - not when said box had a fat, red cross painted on its side. Old, childhood fears of anything medical-related surfaced briefly before being forced back down by his ironclad will. He wasn't in a hospital bed and he certainly wasn't about to be operated on. There was nothing to fear.

[volatiletempest]

The side of his lips twitched at the comment, awakening memories he’d long put to rest. He turned away from looking at him as he reached out to pluck the first aid box off of the counter and onto his lap. His demeanor turned dark and he grew silent, unclasping the container in his hold. Removing a couple of bandage wraps and the materials needed to help disinfect his wounds, he inhaled slowly, resetting the smile on his face. He couldn’t let him see he had struck a chord, now could he?

His relationship with his family had always been bad. It’d gotten worse over the years and now he’d lost contact with pretty much everyone – everyone meaning Bianchi. It seemed over the years he hadn’t really changed from that little boy who was betrayed by his father. And, despite how the Tenth had taken him in, Gokudera wasn’t able to forgive and forget. He acted normally around his friends, but, deep inside, he still felt alone. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, of course. He just needed to find that someone who would fill the gap within – and that someone happened to be Rokudo Mukuro.

He’d known right away when they’d met again after all those years in the abandoned factory. Well, alright, almost right away. It was like suddenly something – he couldn’t quite explain it – opened up inside of him and he had to take him with him. He had to bring him back to his home and make him his because that was exactly what he was – his. He’d always been. Honestly, he couldn’t give a solid explanation for why, but a lot of things in the world couldn’t be answered away simply. This was one of them.

“You weren’t obedient,” he placed the box back onto the nightstand, repositioning himself on the mattress to face him better, “Disobedience requires punishment.” His lips curves upward into a pleasant smile as his eyes ran their course along the man’s body. Where should he start? “This is going to sting,” he warned, deciding he’d begin with the burns. As he started the disinfecting process, he continued in a light tone, “Would you like something more to eat after this? I can make any soup you like.”

[serpente]

"Hmph..." Mukuro opted for a non-response. Scathing comments were his forte, but keeping in mind his decision to cooperate with the Storm (temporarily), withholding further comment about the other man's childhood was the wisest course of action.

The illusionist inwardly sneered at the thought of being obedient. Was he not the Mist, who, like the Cloud, couldn't be swayed or caught by anyone? It was preposterous that Gokudera believed he would allow himself to be broken in. Well, the snake was patient. It was silent. As long as it wasn't bothered, it didn't bother you. But if you stepped on it - watch out! Snakes were fast and they had fangs.

"Something savoury," he manages to rasp, flinching at a dab from some disinfectant. "But not spicy."

[volatiletempest]

Now, see? That wasn’t so hard.

His answer seemed to satisfy him as he proceeded to clean him up in silence for the remainder of the treatment. With the aid, some of the less serious injuries were going to be able to heal more rapidly now. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to contain him forever especially if the illusionist’s strength seeped back. The very idea of losing him caused a very unpleasant stir in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

Once he managed to bandage him up, Gokudera leaned down to press a soft kiss to the man’s temple before he left the room with the box in toll. It was time to make him something to eat for being so good. Savory, but not too spicy. He could do that. He could definitely do that.

[serpente]

The illusionist's lip curled in disgust, sneering at the affection bestowed upon him through that moment of intimate contact. There was no question that Mukuro was going to make some sort of attempt to escape from the apartment when his strength returned - the better question to ask was: when? It might take weeks, or several months, but Mukuro had already started to absorb the details of the room and catalogue them precisely. Control the space, control the senses of your opponent, and the battle would already be half-won.

Mukuro rolled over on to his side and winced as the burn scars stretched with the movement. The liquid he'd consumed earlier stayed his hunger slightly, but his stomach still ached for something filling. It galled him to think he'd be dependent on the Storm for his meals.

He closed his eyes. Chrome... Chrome, can you hear me?

...in which Day 4 commences.

[volatiletempest]

Gokudera checked the time on his cellphone as he climbed out of bed. 5:04 A.M. Stretching his arm above his head, he palmed a wide yawn, exiting his bedroom rather sluggishly. It was still early in the morning, so he didn’t expect Mukuro to be awake yet (especially not on a Saturday, ha). Heading to the bathroom, he took a quick, refreshing shower before he started preparation for the rest of the day. He didn’t have anything planned which meant he could enjoy two full days with the illusionist. This could be considered their very first weekend together, so it was the perfect opportunity for them to get better acquainted with each other. He had tended his wounds yesterday, an important first step.

Now, it was time for the second step – camaraderie. After eating a small breakfast, Gokudera checked the temperature of the soup he’d ladled into a baby bottle earlier. He had cooked it the evening before, so he only had to reheat it. Opening the door to Mukuro’s quarters, he entered quietly, approaching his bedside. “Rise and shine,” he said good-naturedly, taking a seat on the nightstand, “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

[serpente]

As expected, Mukuro was still fast asleep. But being a light sleeper, he began to show signs of stirring as soon as Gokudera greeted him. The illusionist's eyes eased open, fighting the fog of sleep that still half-enveloped him. Although he was still all but skin and bones, he looked a tiny bit more relaxed and rested than he had the previous days. The wounds inflicted by Gokudera himself, however, remained frankly evident.

Waking was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of pain. Twinges, aches, shear lines of fire characterised his awakening. Mukuro almost missed the exact words of Gokudera's greeting in attempting to marshal the agonising inputs as he clawed his way to wakefulness.

"...Another bottle," he said flatly.

[volatiletempest]

“But a different flavor of soup,” he returned light-heartedly, shaking the bottle a little in indication, “It’s creamy roasted mushroom soup. I was going to go with creamy sweet potato soup or broccoli cheese soup, but I didn’t know if you wanted anything sweet and I’d figured broccoli cheese would be a better fit for lunch or dinner.” Setting the small plastic container down, Gokudera jerked his thumb over to the bathroom, “But, first, do you need to take care of any business? I don’t want you wetting the bed again.”

He honestly couldn’t be doing laundry every single day. It wasn’t that he minded so much as the inconvenience of it considering his schedule was rather tight and he only had so many sets of comforter and blankets available for use. “We’ll wash and re-bandage you after you eat.”

[serpente]

Mukuro hesitated then decided to err on the side of caution. Stubborn and prideful as he was, a wet bed was not something he, as an invalid, wanted to be lying on. So he gave a jerky nod before struggling to push himself up. It was hard going when he could use neither arm for support and all of his muscles had wasted away after ten years floating in water. In the end, he had to admit defeat and lay back panting, cheeks burning with shame. He refused to ask for help.

[volatiletempest]

Ah, his poor, pitiable snake.

Look how much he needed him. He didn’t even have the strength to climb out of bed himself. Rising up from the bedside table, Gokudera slipped his arms under the man, hoisting him up. “Sit or stand?” The question was simple enough to inform him of what he needed to do once they were inside the bathroom.

But how truly fragile and light he still was – could he even stand on his own two feet long enough to take care of his needs? Opening the door with his foot, he carried the illusionist inside before setting him down. An arm wrapped around his waist to hold him steady as his hand went around on the other side to begin removing his pants. Time to go.

[serpente]

Mukuro's legs soon began to shake. There was hardly any musculature, and what stringy tendons remained were woefully inadequate to hold up his meagre weight. Gokudera's supporting arm helped only a little. The illusionist voiced some inarticulate noise at the other man for taking the initiative in removing his trousers for him, but he was tired simply from standing. Resisting - or even attempting dextrous movement - was beyond his motor skills at the moment.

"Let me sit," he rasped. He could feel that he was beginning to drag Gokudera down. The drag against his papery skin caused him to whimper quietly. His nerves still felt like they were on fire.