Written on Thrown Away Napkins

Unrequited...?

This story isn't edited in any way, shape, or form.

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, KHR, or any of its wonderful characters.

Characters: Skull, Harry Potter, Reborn.

Warnings: Major character death. Suicide mention. Some blood mention; gore. Very dark vibes. SLASH. MOD!Harry. Pre!Arcobaleno.

A/N: I finally decided to start one of these stories that is just filled with unfinished ideas, and just... vague typing, haha. I have a whole archive of unfinished one-shots and drabbles, and ideas for stories, it's- kind of sad. So I decided to release them, and the first one- is kind of dark, haha. I've been wanting to write a Skull/Harry fic for awhile, but I didn't really capture the exact feel I had wanted so I gave up on it.

So here it is.

Enjoy!

Skull had once met the wholly unimpressed Master of Death.

Needless to say, it was love at first sight.

-0-0-0-

Skull didn't meet the Master of Death as Skull. He had met him under a different name, a different life; he was someone who had died that day, and will never see the light of day again. Skull was fine with that, he didn't mourn his past self, nor did he really care that much about that. He had changed his name, changed his look, and just for the chance of seeing what he had presumed was death himself- he chose the career of stunt riding.

It was a very dangerous career for someone as reckless and loud as him.

And he was fucking good at it. Not to toot his own horn, or anything, but fuck it! He was fucking amazing! Skull reveled in the fact, and was slightly disappointed. But that was mostly due to the fact that if he was so good at what he had chosen to do, then he couldn't die as easily as he wanted without it appearing as intentional suicide.

Surprisingly, it wasn't his stunt riding that eventually killed him a second time.

It was the world's greatest hitman.

Skull was going for a ride in one of the more roomy city states in Italy, intent on musing over his brief encounter with death, and wondering how he could go about meeting him in such a simple way. It was all ruined when someone emerged from the shadows, pressed the tip of a gun to his lower back, and hissed at him to drive.

So drive Skull did.

It ended in disaster, by the way.

Not the driving part, god forbid Skull ever suck at that. But the part that came after, when Skull had finally deemed it safe enough to stop and the guy behind him let out a low and disgruntled sigh. He was about to turn to ask if the guy was alright, after the guy had jumped of the seat and brushed himself off.

"Be grateful," the man interrupted whatever Skull was going to say, making him bite his words back. "Not many get a chance to help me," the man sneered, making Skull bristle slightly.

"I should be saying that," Skull insisted, loudly. He jumped off his bike after he turned it off, making sure to pocket his keys lovingly. "The great Skull-sama is super generous for letting you hitch a ride, heathen!"

The arrogant man's visage darkened. It was almost impressively scary with how his expression turned even more murderous, the fedora that had somehow stuck onto his head shadowing the upper-half of his face. Skull would have felt more nervous and a bit cowardly, but something about this dude rubbed Skull the wrong way. He felt a bit foolish himself for thinking about actually being nice to this prick, thus this edgelord's full on treatment of the almighty Skull-sama.

Skull-sama.

Didn't that just sound awesome?

Idiotically awesome, in Skull's opinion. Which was great, it was what he was going for in this persona. Idiotically brave, brave due to stupidity, cocky and young. In love, Skull added the last part quietly, jaded green eyes underneath feathered dark hair flashing in his mind. Almost like a ghost, death was, pale, never really even there. Something akin to smoke, slipping through Skull's fingers, the hot air brushing past his skin. It made him realize how cold he actually felt, a chill that never left his bones. Touched by death, the superstitious fortune teller at one of his circus events told him. You're either very lucky, or unlucky.

Skull considered himself both.

Especially when the gun was back- ah, yeah, it was totally pointing at his helmeted face. Skull sweatdropped, the prickling of cold sweat dripping down his back underneath the tight black leather that was his outfit. He had to wonder what the hell this dude's problem and lifestyle was for him to be able to point that thing at him without any trembling, and with no hesitation, annoyance flickering across his expression.

"Awesome toy," Skull told him, just to sell it home that he was a fucking idiot.

The man's face didn't look like he needed much help in believing that fact, luckily. "This isn't a toy," he announces, succinctly. Almost slowly. Skull twitched, slightly. "Do you want me to demonstrate?"

Skull considered his options.

Believe it or not, dying once and coming back to life left one incredibly apathetic about that part of life. And towards the rest of life, in general. Skull was already reckless as his past self, his death had only solidified it and left him with a goal to meet death once again. Captivating and inhuman death, with pretty eyes and feathered hair, almost appearing to him like an angel in the darkness that was his first death. Something ragged and broken in his eyes, something torn in his tilted smile. Someone who looked so incredibly lost and alone, and someone that had connected and touched Skull in such a way that left him breathless.

Someone just like him.

"Sure, why not," Skull shrugged, lightly. His voice still carried that cocky enthusiasm, which he grew to love. The man only smirked, something that only added to his charmingly dark and handsome face, making Skull's opinion of him lower slightly.

Skull was always slightly envious of those who appeared better than him, and had the confidence to uphold it. His confidence- wasn't a facade, per say. But he saw it as something that justified the means, something to really sell the fact that Skull, the Skull he became, was an overly confident and egotistical idiot with a boyish charm. Skull, in his past life, never thought himself as 'confident'.

In his past life, he was 'okay'.

Just okay.

Skull briefly wonders what his past self would say to him now, if they could meet. He'd probably be crazy in his past self's eyes, flabbergasted and unbelieving that Skull was himself in the future. Which was fair, considering that Skull considered his past self crazy in his eyes. How could he had lived without dying? How could he have lived such an 'okay' life without meeting death?

So yeah, his past self is dead, and Skull couldn't bring himself to mourn him.

Where was he again? Oh, right. Gun. Pointing at his face. Riight.

It cocked ominously. Heh. cocked.

"You won't actually shoot," Skull declares, a brief flare of anticipation stringing his gut tight. His fingers curl and uncurl at his sides, and his helmet felt really hot and stuffy all of a sudden, filling his head with cotton. The image of pretty and beautiful and inhuman death filtered across his mind, mocking him, teasing him. "You're just trying to look cool by saying that gun is real, haha," he taunts, walking a very thin edge.

The man before him didn't move, his expression didn't change. An almost pitying smirk found its way onto his face, and he said, "I'm not the one trying to look cool. Ciao."

Skull couldn't form a coherent thought when the gun with off.

Bang!

Right to the face, too. It was a rather quick, brutal, and for a brief nanosecond, painful, way to go. Skull could handle pain, and nothing ever really phased him for long, especially after his first death. The image of death was forefront in his mind, something akin to desperation crawling up with the solid cold burn of wanting to meet him again, bursting in his chest. It clawed beneath his ribcage, tearing his lungs apart.

Death.

The white room was back, again. Skull had sat up, breathing tightly, and roamed his hands over his body. For a brief moment of dysphoria, he panicked, almost dropping into hysterics. But it was over as soon as it started, and he pressed his eyes tight against the throbbing white of the expandable room he had found himself in. It was rather desolate and empty, and Skull knew he managed to make it back to the place he had found himself after his first death. First things first, he threw his ruined helmet off, cracked over one side, dripping with black tar that was his blood.

Now he could breath more easily, as he peeled off his leather gloves to run a hand through sweaty hair. One side of his face was slick with a liquid, and Skull refused to let his fingers touch it, already knowing what he would find. He used one of his gloves to help mop it off his face, unhappy with the fabric for not really retaining the liquid as much as he'd like.

"Stupid prick," Skull muttered, thinking to the man he had just been murdered by. Not that Skull did much to help the situation, but- he was really curious now about who the hell that man was. Someone who was that self-important and murderous shouldn't have been wanting to hitch a ride on a motorcycle in some dank alley. He was probably running away from people, Skull concluded. And- well, his license plate was visible, and Skull could be tracked down to help track down that self-righteous asshole.

So in the end, he was just trying to tie up loose ends, and protect himself.

Unbeknownst to him, this is exactly what Skull wanted.

"Hello?" Skull called out into the white void, standing up on unsteady legs. He wobbled, and frowned as his head spun. "Death?" Excitement and slight apprehension was running through his blood, making him dart his eyes around the wide expanse of white, white, and would you look at that, more white! He remembers engaging in a debate with death, last time, about whether or not white was really a color.

White is just an absence of color, Skull had tried to explain.

Death was stubborn, surprisingly. He even ended the argument with a low-key threat, I don't think you would want to argue with me. That shut Skull up pretty good, making him examine death's pale and tense features, an eternity haunting over his shoulders.

"We meet again," came death's dry voice, making Skull whirl around with a wide grin. He only raised an eyebrow at Skull's open gesture for a hug, crossing his own arms and frowning critically at him. "You didn't come here by yourself, did you?"

"No, no, I brought a friend," Skull replied. "He's around here somewhere."

"Great," death deadpanned. He sighed, pressing his eyes shut tight. "What are you doing here again, Ch-"

"Skull," Skull interrupts before his previous name could fall from death's lips. "My name is Skull now, believe it," he winks at Death, who looked unamused as always. "The most supreme and the most awesome Skull-sama," he continues, puffing himself up.

Death's lips quirked up, slightly. "You're unbelievable," he tells him. He eyes him, still reproachful as before. His feathered hair and jaded green eyes didn't change, nor did his dark and rather outdated outfit, its origins unknown to Skull. Which was fair considering Skull didn't know shit about fashion. "Is that some sort of plume de nom?"

"A plum what now?" Skull returns, blinking.

"A pen name," death huffed.

"Oh. Sort of." Skull shrugs. "It's full title is Skull de Mort," he informs, with a slight wiggling of his eyebrows. It was still a rather foreign motion for his face, because he never did the whole wiggling eyebrows thing as his past self. "Get the reference?"

"Wow," the being replies. "Lemme guess, it's the de Mort part, isn't it? Please tell me if I'm wrong." His words made red creep up from Skull's neck, burning his ears; he laughed, sheepishly. Death sighed. "I thought I told you I didn't want to see you here again, at least- not until it's time," he admits, uneasily.

Skull hums. "But I wanted to see you again," he enthuses. Death twitched, sending him a withering glare. The harsh change of mood didn't really deter Skull that much, used to most people in real life turning on him like that.

"I thought you said that you didn't come here by yourself," death warns, threateningly.

"It wasn't suicide again, I swear," Skull declares, making death's shoulders hunch in on himself, the same defeated posture as before slowly seeping back to him. He sniffs and tosses his head the other way, refusing to meet Skull's earnest gaze. "It was much more innocent than that," he continued.

"Death is hardly innocent," death tells him, tonelessly. Factually. Skull smiles, a bit bitter and wistful at the distant atmosphere death was giving off. So close, yet so far, Skull thought, absently.

"Ain't that the truth?" Skull responds. "But I didn't kill myself this time around." At least, not physically. He didn't perform the act himself, nor could he really be blamed for this death this time around. Just a cocky young stuntman who was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. If Skull was right in concluding that he was going to die either way, then it wouldn't have mattered how he had acted in his last few moments.

Death mused, "So how did you die this time around?"

"Someone shot me in the face," Skull tells him, too cheerful for someone who literally just died for a second time. Death huffs, eyes trailing towards the abandoned and cracked helmet, a slight pooling of dark blood already seeping from it. It was a jarring sight against the pristine white floor, and death frowned. He walked towards it, picking it up with a gentleness that made Skull hitch a breath. His eyes were riveted as death's fingers trailed across the damage done by the gun.

When death gave him back his helmet, it was good as new.

"So, how did you end up in a position where someone shot you in the face?" Death inquires, lightly. His eyes were distant and saw through him, and Skull shifted, rather uncomfortable at his disapproving gaze.

"Chance," Skull tells him.

"Lies," death replies. His pretty green eyes narrowed at him, mouth pursed tightly. "You were searching me out," he said, factually. "You were looking to die," he sounded a bit put off, making Skull shift slightly. "You were looking for me," death admits, uneasily and quietly.

Skull chances a slight 'heh'. "You'd be great at fortune telling, you know. You should think about taking some classes," he tells him. "You'll do great."

Death's lips quirked, despite how troubled his expression became. "I already did, once upon a time," he said, voice distant as himself. Skull licked dry lips, staring intently at death, who wouldn't meet his eyes. Long and dark lashes brushed against pale skin, death's eyes were lowered and contemplative. Dark with thoughts, with something wholly inhuman, Skull felt captivated.

At last, death moved away, pressing a firm hand against Skull's chest.

"It does not do to dwell upon dreams, and to forget to live," he says, softly. His eyes were hard and swirling with an unknown emotion that Skull couldn't place. "Don't look for me again," he continued. "You're lucky enough to survive me once again."

"I was already lucky enough to meet you," Skull says, feeling oddly unhappy at being sent back to the realm of the living. Death's expression didn't change, and Skull sighed, holding his helmet underneath one arm. "I can't make any promises," he tells him.

Death's expression broke into smaller pieces, and the loneliness that Skull could match to his own was there. Skull could see the rocks crumbling down the dark chasm, into the darkness of a humane emotion. It frightened and enraptured him, the want to be as close as death as he did. There was something more there, something more to this being who was called death, and Skull wanted to unravel it all.

He wanted to see him again.

Death, probably already seeing whoever he was, all he could be, didn't look all that surprised at this. His smile was slightly broken, torn in such a way that Skull wanted to kiss away the sadness lurking there, brush his lips against his own.

Before Skull left, with one last melancholic and somehow sardonic wave at him, he said, "death isn't really my name, you know." It was almost taunting, almost teasing, and left Skull sputtering, eyes going wide with disbelief.

Of course, that's what death, whose name wasn't really death, left him with.

-0-0-0-

Skull had awoken in an alley, with his renewed helmet and a peeled off licence plate. The smell of blood and gunpowder was prevalent in the air, and his bike was gone. His skin felt sticky and grimey, and he stared up at the night sky, breathing shallow and soft.

All in all, it was a successful night in Skull's opinion.

If death's name isn't death, then what is it?

-0-0-0-

The night Skull died a second time was extremely effective and successful, especially when he ran into the man who killed him a few months later. It was fucking hi-larious, with the slight widening of his eyes, his expression dropping into brief shock. Skull grinned himself silly, waving at the self-righteous prick for good measure. To be honest, Skull didn't give much thought into the man who had killed him after that night. He had bought another bike, and went back to stunt riding, and dreaming of meeting death again.

But as all good things go in life- this backfired on him.

Badly, he might add.

"You were dead," the man hisses, lowly, threatening him in his little trailer. It was a circus event, a few days after they met eyes again in a crowded market in France. Skull twitches, hands held up defensively. "You weren't supposed to survive."

"Skull-sama never dies!" Skull boasted. Not for long, anyways. "Do you think a mere bullet can take down the awesomeness that is moi? Think again! Kyahahaha, got you good, didn't I?" You self-righteous prick.

The man twitches, before backs off. His gun was still in his hands, though. He looked at him consideringly, giving Skull a chance to stare right back. His outfit didn't change much, still the same tightly pressed and hardly ruffled suit from before. His fedora was stylish, and hung cooly on his head, making Skull want to get a cool hat as well. But- stunt riders never really go for the cool accessories such as hats, much preferring helmets and other things to help protect their head.

Skull's helmet never broke, after his encounter with death-whose-name-isn't-really-death.

Skull didn't want to say it was magic, but it totally fucking was. Skull felt a bit proud and happy at the fact that death had charmed his helmet, probably intent on making it safer than it already was. It was the thought that counted, and thus- Skull never took off his helmet anymore. Every once in awhile, when he felt too gross after not taking off his helmet in a while- then maybe, he'd take it off to take a shower. A proper one, at that.

But until then, it stayed stubbornly on.

For good luck, he'd say.

At last, the man smirks. "You might be useful yet, lackey," he says, haughtily. "A lackey who never dies," he continued, thoughtful. His dark eyes, as pretty as they were, made Skull bristle and give his own hostile stare back. Not that the man could see it behind his helmet, anyways.

"Lackey?" Skull exclaims, loudly. "Are you offering to be my lackey? That's fucking awesome!"

A bullet whizzed by, brushing against Skull's skin in a burning matter. It was a very precise bullet, didn't graze anything but his skin and tore through his suit. It was also very telling in the fact that this man was trying to prove a point. Skull, willingly, complied and played his part quite well, in his opinion.

"H-ha," Skull managed. "You- you missed!"

The man smirks. "I never miss," he tells him. Skull mentally rolled his eyes, but pressed himself tightly against the vanity behind him anyways. He gripped the edges, nervously, and the prick looked momentarily satisfied. Sadistic, huh?

"That was an exception?" Skull offered, and the man scoffed, rudely.

"No, lackey, I never miss," he insists. "Take off your helmet," he orders, then. It makes Skull sputter, crossing his arms defensively.

"What the hell? No," Skull snaps, making the man raise an eyebrow. Skull puffs himself indignantly. "The great Skull never takes orders, and I don't even know you! This is harassment, I could call the cops on you," he threatens, making the man roll his eyes. It shouldn't have looked as good as it did on him, but it conveyed the same condescending meaning well.

"My name is Renato, I'm the world's greatest hitman," the man introduced himself with a lazy smirk. An arrogant one. "As the title implies, going to the police force could hardly hold a candle to one such as myself." He leaned forward, dark eyes glaring and burning, making Skull scuttle backwards, practically tipping the vanity behind him over. "You'll want to be on my side, I promise you."

What. An. Arrogant. Ass.

Skull scoffs. "You're delusional!"

Of course, that translates well to Renato. Not. The bastard shot him, again, and this time in the side, making Skull sputter and dodge the fuck out of the way. It was a burning and sharp pain, but nothing could really phase Skull that much anymore. On the plus side, he thought as he hide behind his vanity, slumping to the ground. He might get to see death again, and he'd have an interesting story to tell as well. The same man as before shot me!

He wondered how that would go over with him.

Renato came over to his side, staring down at him. Both literally and figuratively, by the way, and Skull glared at him. "Take off your helmet now," Renato orders. "I need to be able to recognize your face," he supplies, making Skull growl, low in his throat.

If anything, the man looked more amused. Like Skull was a puppy snarling at a larger feral dog- which, he probably was, but Skull died twice. He could handle this pompous ass. Besides, he felt faint anyways, and would probably die from bloodloss and shock at this rate.

Skull took off his helmet with slow difficulty, the pain in his side flaring as he did so. Renato hummed, staring at him- or more specifically, his hair. His hair wasn't always like this, by the way. The brightly dyed hues had only came out after his first death, a very jarring and unique purple. His eye color had changed as well, burning a vibrant hue of the same shade. It was kind of awesome, and Skull had built his persona around the color just a tiny bit. Purple was associated with royalty, and the suffix -sama was a bit of royalty in Japanese, he thinks. So it all comes together, yay!

Skull was fucking clever, wasn't he?

"Cloud flames, huh?" Renato mused. "I would have figured Sun. I never met an inverted Cloud, before," he was talking more or less to himself, and Skull rolled his eyes. Of course, this action was now seen by Renato, and he took a menacing step forward.

"Like I said before," Skull said, before something cottoned in his throat. He spat out a glob of blood, and mucus, making him shudder and look away. He stared at Renato, feeling the faint chill of death growing underneath his skin, burning in his chest. "De-lu-sion-al," Skull pronounced slowly.

Renato raised an eyebrow. "You're not in much of a position to talk, are you?"

Skull would have replied in a bland voice didn't join in, coming from beside Skull. It was death, whose name wasn't really death. His feathered dark hair, and jaded green eyes stared critically up at Renato, and then turned his reproachful stare onto Skull. Skull's neck had almost cracked with how fast he turned his head to meet death's stare, eyes going wide. "Have a penchant for trouble, don't you?"

Skull chuckled, weakly. "Yeah," he says. Both of Renato's eyebrows were raised now. Death gave the man a dry stare, fingers coming to poke the wound in Skull's side, prodding. Skull hisses. "Ow," he whines. "That hurts."

"I would have thought you'd be a masochists after all this time, chasing after me," death huffs. Skull spared Renato a glance, wondering how'd he react to seeing death. Death rolls his eyes. "He can't see me, only you." He gave Renato a bland glance once more. "He's the one who shot you before, isn't he?"

"Bingo," Skull enthuses. "What gave it away? Him standing before me with a gun as I lay bleeding, or was is something in his eyes?" Death gave him a slight scowl, making Skull huff in amusement. "I thought- what are you doing-..." his words were cut off by a gurgle of blood, making death roll his eyes.

"I sensed a disturbance in the force," death replies. "Actually, I sensed that my favorite troublemaker was about to be in trouble again. Might as well prevent you dying again by coming right to the source, right?"

Skull only had caught one part of the sentence. "Is it really true? I'm your favowite person?"

"Troublemaker," death corrects. His eyes were distant, and his voice became so as well. "You still need to learn to live with your dying will," he intones, hand pressing against Skull's wound. Skull shrugged, wincing slightly.

"I live to see you," Skull admits.

"I think the correct term is that you're dying to see me," death mutters, making Skull grin slightly. "I get it, I do, I'm amazing, and cool. But we really have got to stop meeting like this," he tells Skull, seriously.

"Then how about a date?" Skull asked, making the being huff slightly.

"Will that stop you from dying over and over again?" Death asks, dryly.

"...Maybe?" Skull shrugs, again. The light was fading, and Renato was still watching him converse with- well, it probably looks like he was talking to himself. Maybe the delusional one was himself, huh. "Or you could tell me your name," he offers, brightly.

Death stared at him, hand still pressed tightly into his side. For some reason, that spot felt really tingly and warm, and felt like something was being sucked to that spot. It- it was an odd feeling, and Skull was feeling momentarily dazed and weirded out as he glanced at where they connected. It was- was that fire? Was that purple fire? He met eyes with death, who only smirked slightly. His eyes were dark and contemplative, and Skull couldn't help but grin goofily back.

"My name is Harry," death told him. Skull felt enlightened and happy that he finally knew death's name, and he was only momentarily distracted when he glanced down and saw that his wound had been- healed? "Repaired," Harry said, answering Skull's unspoken question.

"Huh, that's really fucking neato," Skull muttered. "So about that- date-..."

Harry was gone. And all that was left was Renato, who was staring at him in a weird way. There was an uncomfortable and awkward air in the room now, and Skull shifted, gingerly getting up on his two feet and brushing himself off. He briefly wondered why no one had came to check up on him if they heard the gunshot, but deemed that wasn't too important at the moment.

Skull met Renato's judging eyes, and smiled weakly.

"I- I can explain...?"

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-mms