Chapter Text
Reborn gave the intercom interface outside of the locked double doors of the apartment a long look, unable to help his distaste over the faded bloodstains and cracked name plates. The apartment’s whole exterior had the distinct well-loved but lower income look that Reborn had left behind the second he could save for a temporary safe house and especially dirty jobs. He glanced at the address Mammon had written down for him, checking one more time that he had the right building. He glanced up and down the street, taking in the content looking people walking up and down the streets, children playing between groups lingering outside warm cafes and boutiques surrounding the apartment. There were subtle signs of a mafia presence, which given the fact the address Mammon gave him was deep in Caracassa territory was surprising due to how subtle it was.
Hell, he had only noticed he had wandered into Caracassa territory due to the fact he had caught more than one glimpse of their coat of arms on people packing heat and the relaxed way they patrolled the area.
Reborn had never bothered doing more than a surface search of the Caracassa family, mostly due to their low numbers and their distasteful dealings that always seemed to be attracting the Vindice to investigate whatever they left behind in their wake. The Caracassa had come onto the scene not too long after he had, but where he only grew his reputation, the Caracassa had fallen nearly immediately into the trap of the drug, weapons, and skin trade. He could count on one hand the number of times he had found himself following along with one of their plans that they expected some sort of miracle in pulling off. Their attack on Mafia land when he had been there with Tsuna had been exceptionally ill planned, but they had not only managed to get on operative on the island, they had managed to get a portion of their forces on the beach. It was more than most people could say for themselves, and it made the fact the Vindice hadn’t taken them in for any sort of crime all the more impressive.
He looked back to the intercom and the button labeled with a peeling piece of masking tape that read ‘front desk’ in faded purple ink, giving it the dubious look it deserved. He can see where someone had taken a knife of some sort and scratched off the room numbers of the lower floors to replace them with the masking tape labels. It was one of the most blatantly underworld buildings that still somehow managed to remain within Omerta that Reborn had ever had the misfortune of encountering.
At least he thinks it’s the Caracassa base, given that there is very little concrete information on the infamous upcoming familia. Which when you think about how one of the opening moves was getting banned from the biggest meet up spot of the Cosa Nostra isn’t all that surprising. He doesn’t know many reasons why a civilian apartment complex would have double sided tinted bullet proof glass for it’s front doors and windows, or would have a buzzer on their intercom labeled ‘training floor’.
The memory of Sk...of his love interest’s face from yesterday is what stops him from turning around. He presses the lobby buzzer, face set neutral to stop himself from scowling like he wants to at the sound.
It’s lucky for both Reborn and whoever's inside that they pick up immediately, the buzzing cutting off just before they speak. “Hello, this is the lobby of La Casa del Marciume, Could I get a name and ask who you are buzzing for?” A calm voice buzzed from the old speaker, it sounded male. He was starting to see a theme with the Caracasa. Tusha was very similar to the russian word for caracassa wasn’t it?
”Chaos, you can call me Reborn.” He said, leaning close to the receiver on the panel. Close enough to hear the buzzed sharp inhale on the other end, and he couldn’t help but smirk. His reputation preceded him still it seemed.
”T-the Hitman?” The man on the buzzer squeaked out, his middle tenor cracking mid sentence. He sounded young, more than likely a new member learning the ropes of their new famiglia.
”Not at the moment, but usually,” He purred darkly. “An acquaintance of mine told me to ask for Corrado Tusha?”
”Mssr.Corra?” The newbie near shouted, and Reborn was almost certain that if it wasn’t for the mist flames crawling over the place he would have heard it. Reborn almost confirmed it when a whisper of another voice crackled over the intercom. “Ah! Msser. Corra, I’m sorry there's someone outside...Ah, yes. He asked about you...Oh, his name...He said it was Reborn, a-and he used the greeting boss said he would!...Did I check the... AH! I am so sorry Mssr.Corra. I’ll pull the feeds up for you!”
Reborn gave the entance’s little alcove a glance around, finally noticing the small green light blinking up in a shadowed corner. He lifted the rim of his hat so that they caught a good look at his face and Leon curled up on his shoulder for once. If this Corrado person was as close to Skull as he was led to believe, they should recognize him from description. Reborn watched with a twinge of annoyance mixed with fascination as the building rippled as the mist-lightning flames coating it writhed with their users anger before settling.
After a beat, the intercom buzzed and the door opened with a click. “I think you should come in Mister Sinclair. This conversation has been a long time coming I think. The person Reborn supposed was Corrado Tusha stated coldly, a barely restrained rage curling behind their calm words.
Reborn pulled the door open slowly, taking in the greyed linoleum, and the short walk to a set of carpeted stairs dominating the right wall with their worn grey and purple glory. Three long strides from the stairs and through a double spaced archway was a slightly larger area with a sensible looking desk set before a wall with large flourishing greenery on either side. He noted that the Caracassa’s coat of arms leant itself to interpretation as the large piece of modern art it posed up on the wall in shades of purple.
Leaning against the front of the desk, half obscuring a nervous young man with flame active typical teal hair was a middle aged person with a femine face, long dark hair pulled from their face in a loose bun, and a pair of the coldest ash grey eyes he had seen directed at him. They had a clipboard tucked under one arm and their smart navy sweater hid their long limbed figure in a way that seemed intentional. He bowed his head slightly from the archway, a smirk at his lips, “Chaos, Misser Corrado Tusha.” He greeted, tipping his hat.
They turned to the young man behind them, “Go find Cherep, and tell him I’m expecting his paperwork to be finished when I find him. If he’s in his room, don’t bother him. Now.” They said firmly, dismissing the teen. Corrado turned back to him as the teen left the room, Reborn moving to let him skitter past. The Misty lightning’s eyes glittered with flames and an old simmering rage, something that has been festering just for him for a while it seemed. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page, you’re here for Skull right?”
Reborn stepped into the room slowly, giving the brunette a long considering look. “I was hoping you could point me to him,” He agreed, tilting his head to the side. “But I think I’d rather know why I can find him at the Headquarters of the Caracasa.”
Corrado’s neutral face twisted into a scowl, minutely shaking their head as if trying to say no to the whole situation. “You don’t know anything about him, do you.” They growled, their nails digging into the knit of their sweater. “20 years under the same damn curse, 22 of knowing each other and you never bothered to get to know him outside of the persona.”
Reborn resisted the urge to pull his gun on him, because Corrado, whoever he was to Reborn’s beloved, was right. “He didn’t make himself easy to know.” He returned, because it wasn’t as if he hadn’t looked. Reborn had made an effort at learning about Skull de Mort without outright intruding on his privacy, especially after the first time Skull had ignored Luce’s request to stay in the mansion. “No one outisde of Mammon, his publicist and the man himself knows what Skull de Mort’s real name is. He only let Skull De Mort show whenever he talked to me. I know he wasn’t originally from italy, but he had lived here for a good portion of his childhood. He likes mechanics, bright colors, and danger, weather because of his stunts or because someone is holding a gun to his head. I know he loved me just as much as he hates me.”
Corrado gave him a long look, before they sighed from what sounded like the very end of their patience. They pinched the bridge of their nose and closed their eyes for almost a minute, the flames infused in the building flared and waned with the deep breaths they took. “Cherep Tusha.” They said slowly, dropping their hand to look him dead in the eyes. “Is an idiot, but you are an asshole. Honestly, if I didn’t know Cherep better I would have knocked you out and erased you memories of this place.”
Reborn withheld his disbelief, having taught Tsuna had shown him that civilians could be capable of amazing feats of flame work. The mist flames covering the place were potent and bolstered by other flame users, and as powerful as he was, he could feel the mist-lightning framework set up by Mammon and Verde.
Corrado reached down into the desk, pulling up a landline phone and pressing a few numbers. A short buzz echoed throughout the building, Corrado holding the receiver to his mouth with a resigned look on his face. “This is Corra, Caracassa second in command. The first one to tell me where Don Cherep has holed himself away will get first dibs to the gym showers for a week. I repeat, an entire week of dibs on the gym showers. If you find him, call my personal number. Now. ” Corra said flatly before they hung up the phone with a click. “Give it a moment, the gym only gets so much hot water and Cherep takes great pleasure in making sure our men can keep up with him.”
Reborn hummed in acknowledgement, tilting his fedora down to hide his face. He obviously had a lot to learn about Cherep Tusha, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t at least a bit excited.
The First Meeting of the Prisniisette
Cherep was angry.
He clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth as he stalked down the night darkened street. He could feel the cloud flames, usually docile against his veins roiling with the gall of that man. He could still remember the way the man had held his cane to Corra’s throat and dared to threaten one of his own. The fear on Corra’s face even as his best friend tried not to show it, the way Corra broke down when the man vanished. Cherep had torn the last person to mess with Corra apart, back in secondary school. Would have left them to die if not for the hassle. His apartment was his, sure, but people usually got the message when he tossed them around a bit. You didn’t get second chances for messing with Corra.
Cherep was terribly angry, but he had to calm down.
He ducked into a dark alley for a second, leaning against the cool brick as he smoothed a hand over the familiar worn leather of his most Skull-ish leather jacket. He has to squash Cherep’s cold burning rage down, because Skull De Mort gets pouty and indignant, not murderous. The texture of leather and the weight of his simpler piercings help to get in the right mindset, though he regrets not bringing his bike. Skull De Mort was never really meant to be anything but a stage persona, something to give himself a little privacy in his day to day life.
”And no asshole in a gaudy hat is going to take that from me.” He snarled under his breath, before he mentally forced the rage and his flames down hard. He was Skull, Skull De Mort.
Skull ducked out of the alleyway, checking the piece of paper the man in the weird hat had given him. He had never really ventured this deep in Palmero, especially because it was Vongola territory and Skull wasn’t in the market for any sort of Sky at the moment. Plus, after the first time someone from the Varia had come sniffing around his show Corra stopped arranging events there.
Skull couldn’t help looking around at the streets, even as he treked his way towards the meeting of these so-called seven strongest. Like, Skull was great and all, and sure being functionally immortal made him even cooler, but this had all the indicators of being a mafia thing.
The mysterious location indicated on the paper was apparently a warehouse. A warehouse that had a single circular table and seven throne-like chairs assembled around it with little weather symbols carved in the backs.
A warehouse with three people with names Cherep recognized from word of mouth, a strange woman in a stranger hat, and another woman with fierce red eyes that reminded him of his primary school gym teacher mixed with an army sergeant with the way she looked him over and frowned.
The strange woman gave him a warm look, “You must be Skull De Mort!” She said gently, her large blue eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
Skull blinked, and Cherep wondered if he had been coerced into someones messed up idea of some sort of harmony meet and greet. He pulled his flames to him hard, jerking it a bit clumsily because Skull didn’t have the same control Cherep did. Though Cherep didn’t have the best control himself given he was pretty solely self-taught. Anything he didn’t figure out himself he learned through observation, and there just weren’t enough healthy clouds to learn it from. He at least could manipulate them smoothly, even if he had no idea how they kept him alive...
Skull gave her one of his more boastful smiles, moving towards the cloud seat. “That’s right! I am the Great Skull De Mort! The man hated by death itself!” He boasted, looking over the seat in front of him. Now, Skull wasn’t short, but this chair was obviously made for italian stock flame users and Skull was going to look practically dainty in it.
The strange lady gave him a mothering smile, and he was tempted to jump in the chair to keep his feet out of the sky flames spilling over the floor. He wasn’t in the market for a sky as Skull or Cherep, especially not an italian one. Italian skies were pushier than he would prefer, thanks.
”Are we introducing ourselves now?” The red eye lady asked dryly. Skull used the distraction to vault himself into the chair, because while he knew he could pull it out this was more of a Skull thing.
”Not quite yet,” She said, gesturing to the last empty chair. “Our seventh member should be here soon.”
Skull took the opportunity to check out the other members of the ‘Prisniisette.’ He sort of knew Viper through Corra and the information network they had been gathering alongside their famiglia, but the green haired mad scientist and the man in the red robes were only familiar in that he had to watch out for them way. One because he might kidnap him to experiment on him and the other because Cherep might have made a bit of a fuss in triad territory after one of his international shows. He might still have an outstanding price on his head now that he thought about it. It was just his luck he was sitting next to the man most likely to be out for his head wasn’t it.
The woman with red eyes seemed to be gearing up to make another biting retort when the warehouse's heavy door swung open to reveal a tall man in a dark suit and a fedora. He was tall, dark, and dangerous with just the hint of dark eyes glinting under the rim of his hat. Sun flames were dark and heavy across the man’s shoulders, and with the curled sideburns framing his face Cherep knew exactly who it was.
The World's Greatest Hitman, Reborn. Probably the number one person on Corra’s list of people Cherep was to never interact with outside of self-defence. The man represented some of the darkest parts of the Cosa Nostra, and looked good doing it. Corra didn’t need to know everything about his new job, did he? If he told Corra about Reborn, his publicist might become insistent on Cherep declining the job even with the threat to their continued wellbeing. He hasn't figured out how to kill the man in the iron hat yet.
The hitman cast a slow look over the room, taking in all of them. When their eyes met Skull couldn’t help tensing, because what if the hitman saw through him. He had heard things about the hitman’s skill and he could still feel the anger simmering under his skin.
Then the hitman turned away, dismissing him.
Skull was torn.
On one hand, if even the World's Greatest Hitman took him for a civilian in over his head, that was great. He could keep his secrets and maybe get through this job unscathed.
On the other hand, Skull hadn’t even had a chance to be his obnoxious stuntman self and he is dismissed at a glance. A glance.
He might be misdirecting the helpless anger the man in the ironhat invoked in him towards someone who hadn’t even introduced himself but Cherep never really cared about things like that. All he knew was the hitman dismissed him and he was already so, so angry. He might not be able to do anything about the man threatening Corra, but he could deal with an arrogant Hitman. Wouldn’t it be fun to see how long it took for the Hitman to realise he dismissed the boss of the up and coming Carcassa family for looking like a civilian. Cherep never played the long game before, never too late to pick up new hobbies.
There was something almost soothing about punching something until his knuckles were sore, Cherep thought, though it took much longer for his hands to become sore with his cloud flames flickering around his knuckles. It didn’t give him the same mix of lingering contentment and well won exhaustion that stunt work does, but it was a decent alternative when Corra refused to let him on his bike. He punched the fake torso in front of him hard enough to make it rock on it’s base, forcing the memory of Corra’s all too concerned scolding about not doing death defying stunts when he couldn’t control the coughing.
His chest ached with each breath he took, raspy and painful with the exertion he was putting his body through. He could remember Reborn’s hands on him, the sound of his voice against so close to his ear. He thought of Collonello’s throw away comment about relationships and he wanted so badly for it to be true. He hit the training dummy hard to try and redirect his thoughts away from Reborn.
He paused to cough wetly into his hands, very glad he had taken his make-up off when he had the chance. He spat the handful of bright colored flowers out, reflexively swallowing to try and rid himself of the sensation the broken stem left against his throat. He dropped the wet bundle into the trash can he had dragged over just for that purpose, wiping his hand off on the punching dummy. It wouldn’t be the grossest thing one of his minions had to clean off of the equipment down here.
The door to the training level beeped as someone scanned in, and Cherep couldn’t help his sigh. He vividly remembers putting a hand-written ‘do not disturb’ sign on the glass, and he knew that most of his minions knew how to read italian. He had heard Corra’s order over the intercom, but he hadn’t actually expected one of the minions to be so enticed by shower privileges to disturb him. Cherep didn’t see anything wrong with the gym showers, though he admittedly prefered to use his personal shower.
He cleared his throat, “Tell Corra I will do the paperwork, alright. I just need an hour or two.” Cherep rasped as the door opened, forcing him to swallow against the itch in his throat. He wiped a hand over his mouth, squaring up with the training dummy again. He considered working through one of the sets Lal had taught him, it was better for living targets but he could cut out the suppression parts. It was always weird to knee a legless torso in the abdomen.
He twitched when he heard the door close, and he could hear the faint tap of someone's shoes against the floor. He growled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose not unlike how Corra does to ward of a headache. “Okay, last I checked I was still the leader of this ragtag band of miscreants.” Cherep snapped, turning around to tear into the minion who had gotten stuck with bugging him. “So when I say leave me alone, You..leave.”
He blinked at the sight of Reborn standing at the door, in his territory watching him with dark eyes and the barest hint of a frown. “I think I’ll stay, Cherep.” Reborn said neutrally, save for the way he said Cherep’s name. He could feel himself shudder, and he almost asked him to say it again. He bit down on his tongue, curling his hands into fists at his side.
He had thought often on what he would do if Reborn found him and the Carcassa and made the right conclusions about their connection. He had expected himself to be mad, to feel the kind of rage borne from his cloudy need to protect what was his. Cherep considered himself to be an passionate person, Skull being his main outlet, but faced with the man he was helplessly enamoured with the day after their little confrontation...All he felt was resigned. “Reborn, I..”He started, but he didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t know why the hitman was there, in his territory looking at him with something like frustration.
”Apparently I have put too much faith in your ability to read the cues,” Reborn said slowly as he stalked towards him, looking the definition of causal. Cherep could feel the weight of his stare on him, and there was something laying behind his dark eyes. He backed into the training dummy as Reborn came ever closer, “I do not like to use words to show how I feel, because words are cheap and lies are all too common in my line of work. That said, if I had known about your condition before the curse, I would have done something sooner.”
Cherep swallowed, any cloudy instincts trying to complain shoved down under the tentative hope he was afraid to voice. The hitman was nearly pressed against him, the edges of his suit brushing against Cherep’s bare chest. He never really thought of how much taller Reborn was until he was so close he would have had to look up to meet his eyes.”What are you saying?” He asked quietly, maybe a bit desperately. A part of him was expecting this to be a trick, the closeness and the words he wanted to hear dangled in front of him.
Reborn grabbed him by his chin, forcing him to meet Reborn’s gaze. “I’m telling you that you, Cherep Tusha, are a person I respect. Someone I respected even before I knew about your little famiglia.” He said firmly, holding Cherep’s jaw just a bit too tightly for comfort. “I should have made sure that you knew I returned your feelings.”
Before Cherep could question which feelings Reborn was referring to, the hitman used his grip on his jaw to pull Cherep into a kiss.
Cherep had kissed a few people before, had the occasional one night stand when the stars aligned enough for him to remember his own libido, but he never really understood Reborn’s reputation until then. It wasn’t even a particularly filthy kiss, no tongue or teeth, just the hard press of Reborn’s lips against his own. Nonetheless it made something warm rush through his veins and his head spin. He gripped the sides of Reborn’s suit jacket, pressing up into the kiss just a tad helplessly.
It seemed to end all too soon, Reborn pulling away to lean his forehead against Cherep’s. Cherep could feel the rim of Reborn’s fedora against his hair, as well as Leon taking the opportunity to crawl into his hair. He blamed the happy hopeful daze and a good chunk of his cloud borne insubordination for his cheeky, “Y’know if you had done that twenty years ago I wouldn’t have been so fucking desprate to get you to notice me.”
Reborn smirked, though his eyes flickered with regret. “You were so cute, stumbling through your feelings about me back then, whilst juggling your civilian persona.” Reborn mused a tad mockingly, rubbing his hands up and down Cherep’s back. “It was easy to fall in love with you, even if you made getting to know the man behind the mask hard.”
”If Kawahira wanted Cherep Tusha he shouldn’t have hired Skull de Mort. I keep those identities separate for a reason.” Cherep said loftily, swallowing around the weird burn in his throat. “I honestly expected at least you to see through it, Mr. Greatest Hitman.”
He jumped when Reborn pinched him, leaning away from the hitman. “Of course I saw through your little mask,”Reborn scolded, a familiar cocky smirk on his mouth. “What I didn’t find was your real name given the efforts you put in separating the identities. Impressive work.”
Cherep knew he was flushed, after so long working for acknowledgement and affection he was getting a tad overwhelmed. He extracted himself from the hitman’s embrace, keeping his hands on Reborn’s chest for a moment. There was also the little matter of the flowers that his cloud flames could finally flush from his lungs. “Can we continue this upstairs? This is a lot and after yesterday I’d rather have this conversation in my apartment if I can’t punch my feelings into submission.” He said tiredly, tentatively grabbing Reborn’s hand. He almost breathed out in relief when the hitman allowed it. “Plus if this devolves into anything R-rated I’d rather not desecrate the communal training grounds.”
Reborn gave him a smile that seemed to promise exactly that and more, causing Cherep to flush brighter. Keep it together Tusha. Wait until you get upstairs...“If you insist,” Reborn purred, reaching to brush Cherep’s bangs out of his face.
”I insist!” Cherep squeaked, pulling Reborn after him as he started towards the door. He couldn’t help the tired smile pulling at his face, nor the warm giddy feeling in his chest. Maybe he’ll finally get to see if there was any weight to the rumors about Reborn’s ability.
Or you know, a nap. Cherep could do with a nap.
1. 5 years before the Arcobaleno Curse
Skull pulled another twig from his hair in a sort of breathless daze, he leaned against the wall behind him with a huff of disbelieving laughter as he sunk to the ground. He felt like his whole body was buzzing, all the way to his bones. His heart was pounding inside of his chest, he couldn’t believe they just did that. “Holy shit” Skull swore, the russian falling easily from his tongue.
He twisted to see his mission partner and his usual pain in the side looking off the way they had come, shading his eyes with his hand as he took in their handy work. Reborn was sort of radiating a sort of self-satisfaction with what looked like an actual smile pulling at his face. Skull couldn’t even be annoyed at the fact Reborn had somehow managed to avoid all of the plant detris from their unintentional exit down through the gardens. “That happened right? We just did that, together, successfully.” Skull demanded, unable to twist his exilierated smile into something more befitting his current look.
Reborn glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, raising his brow. “You expected something else?” The hitman challenged, and for a moment Skull wanted to hear Reborn say his name in that same tone of voice. Wanted to hear Cherep roll off the hitman’s tongue.
Skull shoved the thought away, scoffing as he pulled a piece of briar from his coat zipper. He knew that the job had required civilian clothes to pull off but he kinda missed his jumpsuit’s durability. “Of course not, the Great Skull was on the job. There was no way it wouldn’t have gone flawlessly.” He remarked arrogantly. “Even if you were there.” He looked down at the sweater he had stolen from Corra when his publicist left it in his laundry by accident. He could probably work the leaves and thorns out of the fabric before he gave it back. He gave one of the more stubborn brambles a determined tug, frowning when it refused to budge.
Maybe he was lucky he had chosen to wear his leather jacket despite the other’s protests.
He ignored Reborn crouching down next to him, focusing solely on disentangling the briar from the inky knit. It was fine, he thought resignedly to himself. He was kind of expecting Reborn to punish him for his snark at this point. Reborn didn’t hit him particularly hard even when he actually pissed the man off. For all of Reborn’s sadistic tendencies, the hitman went for humiliation and scare tactics over anything really painful. Honestly, Lal was worse with her well meaning physical instruction for hand to hand combat, and he literally asked her for it. He had a high pain tolerance and if Reborn was actually going to hurt him he would have the first time Skull disobeyed Luce.
Skull froze, his heartbeat racketing back up. Long fingers ran through his hair with a slight tug, the familiar burn of sun flames running over his skin. “Says the one who took a tumble through someone’s garden.” The Hitman retorted, tugging another piece of bramble from Skull’s hair. It stung because Reborn hadn’t actually worked it so much as he yanked out Skull’s hair with it, but Skull hadn’t expected it. He could feel the little cuts on his face heal with only the lightest of burns, and he couldn’t help the incredulous glance he shot the hitman. What the hell was Reborn playing at?
The Hitman had the gull to look confused, raising an eyebrow at Skull like he was the one being weird right now. Had there been a bonding moment he missed amongst all of the theft and arson they had committed together? Last he checked they were still having a passive aggressive standoff over Skull’s resistance to following Luce’s orders outside of missions and his perceived liability to their jobs given his status as a weak civilian. “Why are you being so nice?” Skull demanded, scooting away from the Hitman’s reach with a suspicious frown. “And don’t say it’s because of Luce or whatever. You like tormenting the Great Skull too much for that.”
Reborn stared at him long enough that if he hadn’t been the performer he was he might have felt ashamed of himself. Little did Reborn know, Cherep wasn’t one for shame, and as Skull he didn’t even know the word. “You did a good job, De Mort. ” He said finally, smirking at him as he stood up. The hitman turned back to the mansion burning away happily in the distance, smoke curling up towards the sky. “The least I can do is make sure you don’t get infected because you failed in the last stretch. Be grateful I decided to reward you for that spectacular show of chaos at all. “
For a moment Skull, Cherep, was struck dumb in surprise. He heard his pulse pounding in his ears, something tickling at the inside of his chest as his breath caught. And the feeling was terrifying. Skull had never actually felt the desire to make that deep interpersonal connection with people. Had always had stunt work, his fans, mechanics, and Corra to fill his time with. He hadn’t even considered the chance that he was capable of liking someone like that. Even if he had humored the possibility, he had missed more than his fair share of classes due to injury. He had missed the day in health class the school set aside to talk about the flower disease, about the risks that came with errant crushes after age 13. He had never bothered to learn the early signs, because Cherep Tusha was never going to fall in love. He sure as hell didn’t intend to find Reborn of all people a romantically attractive interest.
”The Great Skull can heal alh-” Skull started only to feel his breath catch on something stuck in the back of his throat. He turned from Reborn, clearing his throat hard and spitting it into his palm. He blinked at the sight of a tiny little purple flower, small with a little four pointed , and wondered when he had swallowed the thing during his fall/trek through the estate’s semi-wild garden. He only knew later when the flowers grew more persistent and varied what was wrong, what had happened after the first job he and Reborn managed to do well together. After seeing a taste of something nicer in the hitman, at the mild respect he had gotten for the first time since they had met. He had looked up the flower for Verde’s records, had found the lilac flowers and the meaning of first love, and had laughed at his own naivety at not realising he had fallen.
The end