Title: Connecting People
Pairing: 8018 (that's Yamamoto x Hibari)
Warnings: boy's love!
Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn! And the title of this story is, yes, the same as the slogan for the Nokia company, which I don't own either (my cell is a Nokia, though – marvelous little device, real user-friendly)

Author's note: I started this story just for fun while I tried to think of a good way to piece together my other story, and then, before I knew it, suddenly I had a full chapter! I've had the idea for quite some time too, so I decided to post it.

Ok, before you start reading, I need to explain about Japanese cell phones and school festivals… First, about the phones; Japanese cell phones use e-mail addresses rather than phone numbers to send messages and you're charged by the number of letters in your message. There are three main distributors of cell phones in Japan: Vodafone, au and DoCoMo (in ascending order of fanciness and expensiveness), and they always have a selection of student discount phones available. The sort where you pay 1 yen for the phone itself, but then you become tied to a particular payment plan for a minimum of 12 months.

School festivals are held in summer, usually in the beginning of August. The classes are divided into 4 teams across homerooms and years: red, blue, yellow and green, which compete against each other in sporting events and decorations. All homeroom classes make their own event or attraction, such as for instance a play or a small restaurant, and compete against each other to be the best or most visited.

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Chapter 1

On the first Friday of the rest of his life, Yamamoto Takeshi accidentally pressed the 'send message' key on his cell phone.

He hadn't meant to – really, he hadn't.

The message he had sent was of quite a private and personal nature, of the sort that anyone and practically everyone spends hours and hours on concocting and puts all of their hearts into writing with the full intent of never ever actually sending to the prospective recipients. They're the hate letters you write when you're angry with someone, the pages of unadulterated honesty that you only dare to confide in your diary and the speeches you practice in front of the mirror on the off-hand chance that you'll one day have the opportunity to meet someone famous. It was a message like that.

Only Yamamoto's message was none of these things, and he hadn't spent more than maybe 15 minutes on it, though he had typed and re-typed it three times before he was satisfied and saved it as a draft. Then he had put the correct address in the 'send to:' bar, just to make it seem more real, as if he really was going to send it – and then he accidentally hit the wrong button on the tiny key-pad of his phone and the message went up, up and away.

But that was only the half of it, because that wasn't even how it had all started. It started the day before that, on the last Thursday of baseball practice before the school festival.

Classes ended early that Thursday and so did most of the clubs. Even though Friday was the day that was officially set aside for making last-minute preparations, Yamamoto could see students practically everywhere who were still perfecting their dance routines and chatting with each other as they painted decorations and cut out paper flowers as he was heading back from practice.

He grinned; excited because everyone else seemed as excited that he was.

Yamamoto was dedicated whole-heartedly to bringing home the gold on Sports Day and so he didn't have any last-minute chores, but there was one last thing he had to do before he could go meet Tsuna and Gokudera and that was to name two candidates for the Mister and Miss Namimori pageant. Everyone a school had gotten a small card from the festival planning committee with one pink and one blue dotted line – with just enough space to write down the names of one girl and one boy – which had to be put in the committee's mail box before 5 o'clock that Thursday.

He had deliberately put it off until he could jot down the two names in full view of absolutely no one but himself; and that, he took a quick glance around, was now.

He found a suitable, sunny spot in the dry brownish grass just outside of the school's main entrance and fished out the card and a pen from his bag. It was early August and a heat wave of unprecedented proportions had hit Namimori like a flash flood. He reckoned he'd probably be as red as a beet by the end of the festival week.

So, the two best-looking people at Namimori middle school…

Pink line first; hmm, that would be Sasagawa Kyoko. Absentmindedly he wrote down her name on the pink line. Easy as nothing…

And on the blue line… Well, there was no question really. Yamamoto grinned, bit his bottom lip, felt a little silly, grinned a little bit more and then wrote the name he had wanted absolutely no one to see him write.

He was half-jogging down the hallway to post the Miss/Mister card – the mailbox was attached to the wall outside the room that served as the festival planning committee's head quarters during July and August – and he was nearly there – and just in time, too, because it was already a quarter to 5 – and he didn't see Hibari Kyouya until he bumped into him from behind.
An incident such as this was usually the last thing any ordinary student of Namimori middle school remembered before awakening in the infirmary or, if Hibari was in a bad mood, the hospital. Accidentally bumping into Hibari Kyouya qualified by public consent as a 'near death experience'.
Hibari clearly hadn't seen him coming either because he stumbled forward and dropped his own card, which he had just been about to put in the box. It fluttered to the floor and sailed to a halt by Yamamoto's shoes.

"Oh man, sorry, sorry!" Yamamoto laughed apologetically and bent down to pick up the card. Because he wasn't afraid of Hibari, he didn't stop to ponder the lack of proper Hibari-like response and therefore, didn't think to look up. And, because he didn't look up at that moment, he didn't see how Hibari's entire body suddenly tensed and his one hand – an empty and unarmed hand – made to reach forward. The moment lasted no longer than a thunderbolt.

Yamamoto took the card between his thumb and forefinger and was about to hand it over to Hibari, but then he read it, automatically because it was right there in front of him when he held it up and not at all on purpose, and froze. There was only one name on the card, scribbled in a careless but neat handwriting that covered the entire space: 'Yamamoto Takeshi, the baseball club'. His name!
Yamamoto looked quickly up.

Another person might have blushed, laughed a little perhaps or tried to joke it away. Everyone at school had to nominate someone, but to just write one single name in big letters… But Hibari's cheeks only took on the faintest pink color and, as perfectly composed as ever and always, he neatly picked the card out from between Yamamoto's fingers.

"Well," he coughed lightly and glanced absentmindedly at his wrist watch, "…just in time." He slipped it into the box, turned nonchalantly on his heel and sauntered away, calm as the clouds.

Yamamoto stared after him, his mouth slightly agape, and then, when he couldn't see him anymore, he started to laugh. He looked down at his own card; 'Sasagawa Kyoko, 2 – A' and under, on the blue line, 'Hibari Kyouya, head prefect' with a small, barely readable note added, crammed inside a parenthesis, 'don't know his year or homeroom, but you know the one'.

Still grinning widely he slipped it into the box. Who would've thought…

He wrote the infamous message exactly 2 hours afterwards, sitting by himself in the sun with his legs crossed on Tsuna's porch.

Gokudera was chasing Lambo around the garden, because he had snatched the watermelon Tsuna's mother had bought for them, and Tsuna was in the kitchen to get them some juice and a plate for the melon seeds.

He typed in the first combination of suitable words that sprung to mind but they sounded odd and random, so he re-typed it. Better, he thought, but it still sounded weird, not natural-like, when he read it out loud inside his own head – so he re-typed it a second time and this time he was satisfied and saved it as a draft.
He chuckled at his own enthusiasm as he sat there, alone for the moment. Not like he would ever send it. Still though, he decided with a small, firm nod to himself, it felt right to have written it.

He didn't have Hibari's address, but later, after the sky was dark outside and he and Gokudera were about to leave, he turned to Tsuna while Gokudera was busy tying his shoelaces and, straining to look as casual as he conceivably could, he asked, "Hey, err, Tsuna. Listen, you don't happen to, err, have Hibari's cell phone address… do you? He-he," he laughed awkwardly, scratching his neck.
Mentally, he was rolling his eyes. Nice job; that sounded really casual…

Tsuna cocked his head in surprise at this unexpected request. "Hibari's…? I think so." If Tsuna found it odd that Yamamoto would want that particular address, he did at least have the grace not to mention it, but obediently found his own phone in the pocket of his jeans and scrolled down a list of contacts. "Yup, here it is. Reborn put it in after that first time we met him in the reception room." His shoulders shuddered a little at the memory.

Yamamoto felt his cheeks grow a little hot at that particular memory and silently prayed that no one would notice. Because that was when he had first met Hibari…
Incidentally, it was also the first time he had met Hibari's collapsible tonfa… with his face. Still though, clouded as it was (he'd been knocked out, after all) and nearly a year old, it was a special memory.

He had heard so much about him in advance – mostly from the seniors in the baseball club. And he'd seen some of the other prefects, the big guys, who all looked like they were perfectly capable of doing very small sums and smashing very big things. They were pretty mean, most of them, and seemed really full of themselves, just because of their impressive size and that damn red arm-band that allowed them to do as they pleased – or so they seemed to think, anyway.
But Hibari wasn't like that. He wasn't full of himself. He was just… fearless; confident in his knowledge that he was stronger than everyone else – because he was. He didn't strut, he didn't brag and he seemed very much capable of doing big sums or, alternatively, taking over the world. Hibari was the coolest person Yamamoto knew of.

He was also very, very beautiful.

The next morning, on a hot and lovely Friday, Yamamoto accidentally sent the message while sitting cross-legged in a square of sunlight on the classroom floor. He reread it to himself, smiling, again, and feeling a little silly as he put in the correct address. He hadn't seen Hibari yet that day, and hoped that he would.
To think that he'd nominated him...!

Around him the classroom was buzzing with activity. Their homeroom attraction this year was a play and the entire room had been transformed into a stage, with props everywhere and curtains hanging down from the ceiling. Yamamoto wasn't in it, though, and neither were Gokudera or Tsuna. But still Tsuna was running to and fro like the rest, laden down with heavy props that no one else wanted to carry or performing chores that no one else wanted to do. Just like last year. Poor Tsuna…

He had just decided to get up and help him and pressed to 'save draft', or he thought he did – only, as he stared at the little display in horrorstruck disbelief, he realized that wasn't what he'd done at all! He'd pressed… 'send message'! He had sent it – 'your message has been delivered!' – and now it had been sent, to Hibari!

He had just sent the silliest message in the universe to the un-silliest person in it!

Uh oh!

He was on his feet in an instant.

"Hey, where are you going?" Gokudera cast him a puzzled look from where he sat perched on the window still, but Yamamoto didn't answer – he was already on his way through the sliding doors and out into the hallway. He bolted past colorful paper decorations and flower wreaths and excited fellow students, up a flight of stairs and down the corridor where he would find the reception room and, hopefully, Hibari who, hopefully, wouldn't be holding his cell phone when he did.

He wasn't.

When Yamamoto barged through the door unannounced, Hibari stood alone in the middle of the floor and looked like he was on his way over to the window. On the couch lay a black, expensive looking cell phone – all by itself.

Hibari looked at him with raised eyebrows, momentarily surprised by the sudden intrusion. "Oh. It's you," he said simply, in a tone of voice and with an expression that Yamamoto couldn't read.

He hesitated. He looked at the phone. He looked at Hibari. Would he make it? If he just went for it right now, would Hibari be able to –?
Hibari looked at him back. Then he looked at the phone – and then he seemed to get it…

Hibari dived for the cell phone. He could just about very nearly touch with his fingertips, when his brief flight was interrupted by Yamamoto who tackled him sideways like a football player with what felt like roughly the force and speed of a mini-van. The air was pressed rather painfully from his lungs and as he lay gasping for air with Yamamoto on top of him Hibari felt like a gold fish, bulging eyes and all.

The phone fell down from the couch and hit the carpet beside them with a soft 'thud'.

"Sorry," blurted Yamamoto, "but I wasn't gonna send it and then whoosh I had. I think."
"What," panted Hibari through gritted teeth, "are you blabbering about?!"
"That message I just sent you! I didn't mean to send it!"
"Get off me!" Hibari squirmed under him on the floor. He did not look like he was in a particularly diplomatic mood.
"I just need to borrow your phone for 2 sec –"Yamamoto tried to explain, then he drew his breath in sharply as Hibari kneed him in the small of his back.
"You can't have my phone!"

Yamamoto was in every aspect a do-first-think-later kind of person. It was why he was such an excellent sports man and why he was such a natural with a sword. It had also gotten him into a hell of a lot of peculiar and awkward situations in the past, conversational-wise.

But he didn't think for a second before doing what he did next, and, when he thought about it later, he felt he could blame it partly on his personality. Before Hibari managed to wiggle his arms out from where they had been pinned to his side by Yamamoto's thighs, Yamamoto had grabbed his shoulders in a firm grip and kissed him on the lips.

That shut him up.

Hibari's second thought as Yamamoto kissed him was that he had very nice and comfortable lips; soft and dry and not chapped even though it was summer. It was a thoughtless kiss; a spontaneous gut-feeling kiss that said many things and was a world apart from what Hibari had previously had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of.
His first thought was closely linked that particular incident, though to the oblivious mind-reader the connection would probably be rather vague. It was 'why me?' It might help the mind-reader to know that Hibari had gotten his first kiss on a face that was smeared with dirt and his own blood while his hair was full of pink little petals that Hibari later realized were never really there.

Mukuro's lips had not been comfortable, certainly they had not been nice, and neither had his tongue or his teeth, but Hibari had still somewhat enjoyed the strange sensation in a way, though he strongly suspected the three broken ribs he'd had might have put a damper on the overall experience.
And here he was again, pinned to the ground by someone else's body with someone else's lips pressed against his own. Why-o-why…

But with all of his ribs intact, if perhaps a little bruised from being tackled by someone from the baseball club, and none of those stinking flowers around, Hibari had to admit that being kissed wasn't half-bad. It probably helped with the lack of blood, too, he thought.

When Yamamoto kissed him again it was deeper, bolder. It felt a lot more like it was on purpose this time. Encouraged by the lack of violence he had probably been expecting, Yamamoto slid a strong callused hand under Hibari's thin summer shirt and up along his waist, pulling the shirt up with it. Hibari was just entertaining the thought of throwing Yamamoto Takeshi out of the window if he actually tried to take the shirt off – he was also thinking, vaguely, that he might want to take Yamamoto's shirt off – but then things took a quick and sudden and unexpected turn.

Yamamoto's upper body shot forward; he rolled sideways off Hibari's chest and with one quick movement his hand closed around the sleek, black DoCoMo.

"Got it!" exclaimed Yamamoto triumphantly and held the black little device up over his head like a trophy.

Hibari stared at him in surprise, his eyes looked wide and his mouth was slightly open – he had clearly not expected this outcome. Then he sighed and, getting up on his knees, began to straighten his tie and tuck his shirt back in. "Hm. Fine. I suppose you've earned the right to do what you came for, Yamamoto Takeshi."

Yamamoto felt simultaneously relieved, flustered and winded and attempted desperately to do the 'grandma in the shower' trick while he discreetly arranged his legs in an inventive and elaborate fashion so that Hibari wouldn't notice just how painfully much he'd let himself be affected by his own distraction maneuver.
But it had worked!
And he'd kissed Hibari Kyouya, which, in terms of danger, was roughly equal to poking a pit-bull in the eye with a sharp stick – and he lived to tell the tale! Although he probably wouldn't live for long if he ever actually told it.

Grinning happily he opened the cell, which was much fancier than anything Yamamoto had ever owned – what kind of middle school student owned a DoCoMo, anyway? But it was pretty easy to use. He found the inbox and, with Hibari's resigned gaze resting warily upon him, like a lion surveying a bothersome but hardly dangerous hyena, Yamamoto began to scroll through Hibari's messages in search of his own.

He had only just sent it. Shouldn't it be at the top?

Hibari had all his contacts catalogued with full names and even titles, and he seemed to be in contact with a lot of important people, because several names had titles like 'professor', 'doctor' and even 'constable' attached to them.
He wondered what Hibari really did in his free time.

As for his own message, however…

For a moment Yamamoto stared blankly at the phone. "It's, err… it's not… here," he finally said slowly. A faint blush spread on his cheekbones like bruises and he scratched his neck, looked up at Hibari. Hibari stood with his arms folded and a scowl on his pretty face. "I see," he said. It sounded ominous. In the next heartbeat he had his tonfas out. "You have three seconds, Yamamoto Takeshi."

"Oh, aw, come on…!" Yamamoto put up his hands like a robbery victim and backed one step, two steps, towards the door. "You can't be –"

"One!"

Anyone who has shared a secret, surprising-yet-not-completely-unexpected kiss with a person they can't avoid seeing the next day could have told Yamamoto that he had absolutely nothing to look forward to; certainly not from a short-term perspective. And, as it was bound to be, the first Saturday in the rest of Yamamoto's life turned out very, very awkward.

If someone had told him on that day that in a matter of 120 hours he would be confessing, in person, to a blind-folded Hibari surrounded by cobwebs and bloody bed-sheets… he would have laughed.

At 2 o'clock on Saturday morning, 7 hours and 15 minutes before he saw Yamamoto Takeshi again, Hibari Kyouya was awakened by his cell phone.

It was a small black DoCoMo thing, bought with no student discount (because the phones you got then were all tacky, he thought) and a perfect replica of the one that low-life, abominable waste of flesh known to the world as Rokudo Mukuro had destroyed. He said he'd done it because he didn't like to be interrupted when he was enjoying himself…

His initial annoyance at being dragged out of dream land at such an hour quickly faded into a mild puzzlement; there were two unread messages. The first was from DoCoMo, apologizing for the delayed forwarding of the next message, which was from an address he didn't immediately recognize and seemed to have been sent to his old address – the one he had used on his old phone, the one Mukuro had broken. As he read it, he quickly realized who it was from, and his eyebrows floated slowly up, up until his normally stoic visage looked genuinely astonished.

'Hey Hibari, if that was weird today I'm sorry, I didn't mean to read it but I'm glad I did. See, I kind of wrote your name on mine too, ha-ha, go figure, right! I think you're really cool and, well, obviously, really pretty; very pretty, in fact. Sorry if that sounds weird, ha-ha, but sometimes, especially when you fight, it's like I'm hypnotized. Oh, and you don't know it yet, but you're just going to continue to grow cooler and more beautiful in the future! And this is Yamamoto Takeshi, by the way'

He read it one time, two times; he blinked once, twice, nodded to himself, closed the phone and put it back next to his pillow. Then he promptly fell asleep with a miniscule smile curving his lips.

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Author's note: umh, hope you like it! I got the idea because it's summer, so there'll be festivals aplenty in Japan right now *le sigh*, and because I just read the chapter in the manga (it's 'Target 16: Kyoya Hibari', vol. 2, fyi…) where they first encounter Hibari. Yamamoto is doing all the 'inner talking' about who Hibari is and there's this one panel where he's just sort of looking at him and – ah! Just read it!

Please review! Reviews are the coolest inventions since cable networking and cell phone straps and they make my day always!