Tsuna spent much of his childhood watching his mom place her soulmate flowers into vases, cups, bowls - at times anything that could hold water. Somedays orange anemone's would decorate almost every available surface. On those days Nana would sit in a chair, nervously biting her nails as she cast her eyes out window, even as more flowers sprouted in a fine line on one of her shoulders. What kind of construction worker got that hurt in one day? She'd hover with a hand over the phone at times, as though wondering if calling would help or hinder the situation.
She never picked it up, never dialed, just busied herself with cooking, casting her worry filled eyes on the innocent looking anemones that littered the counter.
As a younger child Tsuna would pull the flower encyclopedia off the bookshelf and thumb through the first handful of pages until he got to the anemone page, eye's scanning a page he already knew well enough. The book had been a present from his dad to his mom after their engagement. The anemone page had little doodle and hearts, messages his dad wrote to his mom. Promises he never seemed to keep.
Anemone's having many meanings, but his father had circled one - 'anticipation and excitement'. The cheery and hopeful statement sat under the much darker words. 'Forsaken or forgotten love and affection'. Those words loomed over Tsuna at night, wondering where his dad was and when he would come back. If his dad would come back. 'Forgotten.' Is that what they were to his dad?
His mother never seemed to even entertain the thought. 'Arrival, approach, anticipation' should would rattle off with the book in her lap, Tsuna huddled up beside her. She would read over the page time and time again and all it seemed to do was further instill in her that Iemitsu didn't want to be away from them, that he longed to return home, and if they (she) remained patient he would eventually return.
oOo
Sometimes Iemitsu would lose himself in his work. (Iemitsu always lost himself in his work). He would drop his sorrow as they chased a rival mafia member, sadness being accidentally cast under a dumpster. Sympathy falls from his grasp as he leaps off a building, bullets ricocheting above his head. His mercy would follow his comrades as their limp and cold bodies are sent down an elevator shaft, both their hands his clemency slipping through his fingers. When he levels the barrel of his gun at the enemy, guilt and patience fall with the shells of each bullet.
All that is left an empty man who knows only fury and hatred, knows only to do what must be done for the company, for the Famiglia.
Iemitsu would sit in his hotel room, staring blankly as a wall, not caring if the blood dripped onto the carpet. Knowing only to follow procedure until it was time to either return back to the base or to kill any of those who would chase him down tonight in an attempt to get some sort of revenge.
And then his hand would tickle, and his stupor would be broken. Carefully Iemitsu would bring his hand up to his face, a small line of coreopsis' blooming, their bright and cheerful glow lighting up the dark room. Nana must have nicked herself chopping vegetables again. His face would soften again, regaining slowly everything that made him human. She could always bring him back, the small flowers like gentle kisses of his beloved, her gentle and soft heart reaching him even when he was so far.
Gingerly Iemitsu would pluck the flowers and place them in his locket, pressed between the picture of his dear Nana and his sweet Tsu-kun.
Iemitsu would long to return to them, his chest aching as he thought of them so far away. But he couldn't return, not if it would put either of them in danger. Instead he would clutch Nana's flowers, her soul, close to his heart. He would continue to miss them until there was another mission, another murder, and another time when he would lose who he was.