Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! is Amano Akira's. Worship her.
Author's Notes: Now, most of my (sloppily) written one-shots are typed up in a night or two, easy-peasy. But this. THIS. This has been rotting in the limbo that is my notes for over two months. The same darn title, and tons of half-completed, discarded one-shots under its name. Because I've always wanted to write something about Fon. Him, and tea—Chinese green tea. Like, 龙井茶. *flails* But I never got it to work!
Summary: Tea—it's just something soothing. Fon/Tsuna
Afternoon Tea
"It is soothing to the nerves, no? Like the waters and mountains of JiuZhaiGou valley, or even just a warm ray of sun filtering through a canopy of trees..."
Tsuna blinks, eyelashes fluttering in a display of faint surprise.
"What is this, anyway? It doesn't taste anything like mom's barley tea."
A chuckle. A small red sleeve lifted to politely mask a growing grin.
"Uhmm...so...this." Tsuna points a delicate finger at the greenish brew, a lone tea stalk floating up to the surface.
"It's Dragon Well Tea," he says, flipping his long braid behind his back. "Harvested from my homeland."
"And Lambo, last night, he just, just—" Tsuna struggles briefly before continuing. "—ran through the entire house, spilling my rice and dinner all over the wooden floor!" He agitatedly tugs at his spiky brown locks of hair, pacing furiously across piles of dirty clothing and comic books scattered haphazardly around his untidy bedroom. "Then he cries and wails, and pulls out that ten-year bazooka! I-pin comes running to chide him, but then he, he shouts out 'broccoli monster' at her!" Tsuna moans as he presses his palms to his closed eyelids and flops onto his unmade bed in a whirl of flailing limbs. "And so, we have a giant hole in the ceiling. Again."
Fon smiles, and that turns into a soft laugh as Tsuna groans and rolls around in his bed, completely lost in the woes induced by the children's antics. The baby hops off the end of Tsuna's bed to retrieve two teacups from the study desk situated against the bedroom wall.
"I think that perhaps a drink of tea is in order."
Tsuna sits back up.
"...Yeah."
"Yesterday, at the Summer Festival" Tsuna wearily exhales, "I was selling chocolate-coated bananas with Yamamoto and Gokudera at the food stalls— there was some craziness here and there, but it was pretty fun overall. But then— right before we finished selling the last of the bananas, right before the time for fireworks— a robber just dashed by and stole our money!
"And guess what? Remember the surfers I told you about last time—you know, the ones I beat in the swimming competition because of Dying Will Mode?" A nod. "Yeah. It was them.
"The guys came with so many delinquent underclassmen! I thought I was gonna die! Hibari came in to save the day— or just beat up people, I guess— and even though I worried for a second, I thought things were going to be okay—
"And then Reborn fired another bullet at me! So I went cuckoo and dived right into a gang fight! A gang fight!" He finishes by gesticulating wildly in the air as he simultaneously burrows his face deeper into fluffy white pillows.
Fon laughs—an airy sort of chuckle, of summer breezes rustling through crispy leaves of emerald green—and hands over a steaming cup of tea.
"But at the end, you still managed to enjoy the fireworks with all your friends, correct?"
Tsuna gratefully accepts with the left hand as he releases an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with the forefinger and thumb of his right. He then proceeds to sift through the pockets of his school-issued pants, pulling out a vibrant red bullet gleaming with the even brighter reddish-orange glow of the setting sun.
"Yeah, they were really beautiful. But—ugh. Reborn loves torturing me too much. It's insane."
A small quirk of the lips. "Well, that's certainly not the only reason why he does so."
A pout. "What other reason is there?"
Laugh, a timber too low for a normal infant. Fon takes a small sip of his Dragon Well Tea.
"I think you already know."
Tsuna dreams of colors. Mellow tones of red and green, bathed in a shimmering sheen of molten gold.
It doesn't remind him of Christmas.
In the farther reaches of his mind's recesses, the corners of this unique dimension are inhabited by the ever-dancing flickering of more reds, shades of ruby flames interrupted by sparks of white.
He doesn't think of holiday cheer, of happy family banquets or quaint gift exchanges. But it is warm, so warm, perhaps even more so. He thinks that these colors are beautiful.
And they are. They are beautiful. Especially to him.
When Reborn wakes him up with a hammer to his head at six-o'clock on a school day morning, he doesn't emit a single whine from his throat. In fact, he doesn't even feel it.
When he closes his eyelids as he changes from pajamas to uniform, the colors stir again. His olfactory senses pick up the leftover fumes of green tea drifting idly in the confines of his bedroom.
It's a fine morning when he steps out of the front door and cheerfully waves at his two closest guardians loitering on the pavement before the house gates.
Red. Green. And red. Red, red, red. Ever associated with the aroma of Dragon Well Tea.
It's a success.
He hears the ringing clinks of china upon china, the soft bubbling of water swirling into cups, the quiet rustling of fabric sliding over fabric.
Tsuna opens the door with the softest of clicks, stepping in with his eyes sliding shut as a peaceful smile graces his features.
He takes three measured steps forward as the room falls completely silent. And for the first time in all their meetings—
He cranes his neck up, opening caramel orbs to behold the sight of a Chinese man with long raven hair, braid falling over the back of red robes.
"Hey..."
Tsuna stumbles from bathroom doors into his office room, sour breaths coming in heavy pants as his chest continues to heave, the taste of bile and acid still lingering on his tongue.
He shudders as he removes black gloves from his hands, peeling them off and casting them aside to the end of the velvet sofa like an alien skin.
Figures. He lets out a soft whimper as he curls into himself, a shivering ball.
He sees red—dark and crimson—complemented by tinny screams and above all—
—the heavy scent of iron, a disgustingly metallic tang—
—rather than—
Well. In retrospect, he really should have foreseen this.
After all.
(They're Mafia.)
Long, flowing sleeves—
Butterfly kisses trailing up his neck—
hovering over his lips—
to the bridge of his nose—
up and up, gently, softly, delicately—
a light peck on the forehead—
a soothing hot liquid tumbling into a dry cavern, like a rivulet of life—
"Tsuna?"
—and he is revived.
Rejuvenated.
"I met this Italian boy the other day— we were down at the Vongola beach resort— and the kid told me—"
"A children's song," Fon abruptly cuts in, a teasing smirk gracing his face as he tilts the pottery cup to his lips.
"The sea knows no limits to its vastness,
and the rainbow appears every now and then,
only to fade away again.
Shellfish live through the ages,
inheriting their shapes..."
Tsuna blinks.
"Heck, no.
"That was unexpectedly morbid of you."
Fon shrugs, remaining silent. A noncommittal hum.
"Nuh-uh. What the kid actually said was—
Tsuna tries to ignore the shaking of his hands, agitatedly smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in his pristine suit.
"Colonello and Viper..."
He can't finish.
Fon stops in his motions, and large puffs of water vapor rise from the teapot as its lid is left to roll around along its circular edges.
"...I know."
On the clock hanging above the cabinet of files, the minute hand rhythmically ticks by.
"Just..."
"Don't die. Not you too."
Fon tightens his arms' hold around Tsuna's shoulders, who leans deeper into the warm embrace.
A spark flashes across his silver eyes, yet his voice remains perfectly smooth and level as he speaks.
"I won't."
Tsuna steps into his office, rays of burnished gold bleeding onto the plush carpet.
There is no aroma of tea to greet him.
A few tea leaves, just enough to cover the bottom of the clay pot. Add water, approximately two centimeters deep, and he gently sloshes the contents for a few seconds before pouring it into the sink, a peridot fountain from an earthen spout. Then, he fills the teapot to the brim with hot water, moving to rest it upon the wooden desktop for five minutes before pouring some of the steeped concoction into a matching cup.
Tsuna sinks into his black leather chair, and long pale fingers trace the rim of a single teacup.
"That little boy, he said—
"I won't."
But he did.
"—but that isn't right, though," he muses to silent cream walls.
He thinks of arching rainbows, shellfish in the ocean sands.
"Nuh-uh. Course not. Because you see," he breaks off to drink a gulp of lukewarm tea. Opens his mouth to fill the quiet once again. "A line is a collection of points. Or, points plot the line. Whichever you prefer."
The corners of cherry lips tilt up to form a triumphant smile as his eyes fall upon the teapot.
"See? I'm not that bad at math."
Nails tapping on the rim of a cold, empty cup.
"No," Tsuna mutters, softly shaking his head. "No. You are not here, right? You're with—you went with—Reborn..."
"It is soothing to the nerves, no? Like the waters and mountains of JiuZhaiGou valley, or even just a warm ray of sun filtering through a canopy of trees..."
Tsuna hides a shy smile behind the earthen tea cup as he lifts it to his lips.
"Yeah. It really is."
You are.
Or.
(Better yet.)
Were.
Tsuna prepares another pot of boiling tea. But he uses tea leaves from the Autumn harvest, and the greenish brew tastes more pungent and bitter, less fragrant and sweet.
Because he isn't here.
"I think you already know."
Yeah. I do. A nervous, shuddering intake of cold, cold air left chilly with the absence of the sun. The faint aroma of tea leaves filters up to his button nose in curly tendrils of wispy white smoke.
For this.
"So hey..." he whispers to the empty room. "I'm heading out now."
A red pacifier glows.
(His time is points in space. Here and there.)
(A horizontal plane, terminated.)
The lid of an ebony coffin shifts.
(His time is of vertical lines. Always descending.)
Tsuna wearily steps into his office, cast with a warm glow from the low-hanging sun.
He smells it. That whiff of Spring which softly whispers by, a mellow steam that permeates the papery smell of the office air.
He opens his eyes and looks to his polished wooden desk.
"Welcome back," baby Fon greets him softly, silver eyes reflecting light and shadows in a way that echoes wisdom far beyond his seemingly infantile years. He skips to the edge of the table and holds up a small clay teacup.
"Would you like to drink a cup of tea with me?"
Melting caramel orbs drift over the red-robed baby's diminutive form. "I'll help turn you back to your adult form again."
"那么," Fon smiles. "真是千恩万谢."
-FIN.-
Chinese-English corner:
龙井茶 (lóng jǐng chá) —Dragon Well Tea. Grown in HangZhou, it is ranked first among China's top ten teas. The quality of 龙井茶 is further divided into a total of 6 ranks based on harvest time and leaf-shape. The highest grade of 龙井茶 is priced at roughly 2600 RMB for 500g.
九寨沟 (jiǔ zhài gōu) —No lie- it is seriously one of the prettiest places I've ever been to. Forests, waterfalls, and tons of ponds. The most fascinating thing about the lakes is that the minerals within make them have all sorts of colors. It's a place that looks really different from season to season— go look up some photos.
那么 (nà me) —then
真是 (zhēn shì) —truly, really
千恩万谢 (qiān ēn wàn xiè) —a thousand thanks (more polite, semi-formal)
So that last line can just be roughly translated as: "Then...thank you so very much."