In all honesty, I have no idea if this one even makes sense. I sure hope so.
I'm sure that if it doesn't make sense, you lovely loudmouthed reviewers will have no qualms about telling me exactly what you think of my writing in no uncertain terms. Or, at least, I hope you will.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer TO THE EXTREME: Obviously I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, or there would be no female characters at all ever (and especially none of the stupid Shimon Middle School variety - seriously, how transparent is that ridiculous boob job on stupid Suzuki Adelheid?). So THERE.
After the others have left, after the Guardians have been sent off to do whatever it is that the Boss requires them to do this particular week, after political alliances have been formed and strings have been pulled and reports have been given and orders have been issued, it is completely silent in the Vongola base in central Japan.
The silence filters into the building through the vents and cracks in the walls like hydrogen cyanide, filling the halls until they're fit to burst, penetrating every corner and nook and cranny, weighing oppressively on the ears and minds of the people who stay behind to feel it. People such as Sawada Tsunayoshi, usually the only one left alone in the base anymore.
But Tsuna no longer minds the silence. He hardly even notices it.
He goes through the paperwork mechanically, barely registering what he's signing or writing or reading in three very different languages, until the much more dull and unexciting parts of being a Mafia Boss are finished and stacked by language and importance and he doesn't have to worry with any more papers until the reports from his Guardians come in next Monday.
Which, he remembers vaguely, is also someone's birthday. He should probably arrange a party of some kind for whoever it is…
He sighs, suddenly glad no one is around to see him, and lets his shoulders sag as he leans back in his chair, which is slightly uncomfortable because of the lack of armrests. He much prefers the décor of the base in Japan to the one in Italy, favoring the clean lines and light colors here over the dark and heavy wooden paneling in his Italian office, but he likes the chair there better, and the chair, really, is the most important thing.
He could go out and buy himself a new chair, of course. He's certainly got the money for it (second-best thing about being in the Mafia, and since he's a firm believer in innocent-until-proven-guilty, it's all been attained in a perfectly legal fashion as far as he's concerned). But this chair is a perfectly good one, aside from the lack of armrests, and he's never been one to be wasteful of perfectly good things.
Tsuna closes his eyes and wonders if anyone has noticed the steadily-growing-darker circles under them yet. He hasn't been sleeping well lately; the last night of real sleep he had was the night before the negotiations with the Gambino and DeCavalcante Families, both allies of the Vongola, who were teetering on the brink of a drug war with each other but decided instead to settle their differences through mutually attempting to kill the mediator, which, in this case, happened to be Tsuna himself.
Luckily, he'd had his Guardians waiting outside the doors. Unluckily, what started out as self-defense turned into a bloody massacre, completely wiping out at least half of both Families and leaving the Vongola Tenth restless and sleepless and more than a little disturbed.
They are hit men, they are assassins, but they are not killers and they are not murderers. He knows this better than they do, and that's what really bothers him. He knows that inside, they're still teenage delinquents and baseball freaks and boxing fanatics and devoted protectors, but sometimes he's unsure if they know that, too.
Tsuna himself, in the depths of his heart and in the back of his mind, is still the tentative and insecure kid with low self-confidence and even lower test scores. He's still Dame Tsuna, No-Good Tsuna, Loser Tsuna who wants to be a giant robot when he grows up and has a giant crush on the girl he doesn't have a chance with in a million years. He's still the clumsy and naïve boy who would never even dream of being involved with the Mafia in any way, shape, or form, let alone being the Boss of one of the most prominent and powerful Families of the underworld. In all honesty, he's not really sure how he came to be where he is today. Really, someone like him involved in the Mafia, of all things…
And even still, even now, all he really wants to do is take his friends to the top of the hill and watch fireworks and have a picnic and laugh. That's all he's ever really wanted to do, and that's all he'll ever really want to do. They would be safe and sound and whole and happy, and none of them would ever be forced to kill or live with the daily possibility of being killed, and…
But he knows that even though he'll never really change, even though they'll never really change, their situation has forced them to change (though Tsuna likes to think of it as adapting rather than really truly changing).
He suddenly remembers that next Monday will be the 28th, which means that it's Lambo who has the birthday. Seventeen. A big year. Mentally, he makes a memo to buy lots of balloons, because Lambo's always been very fond of balloons.
And now that he thinks about it, to hell with not being wasteful – while he's out buying balloons, he'll make sure and buy himself a new chair.
(Maybe he'll give this one to Gokudera.)
A/N: See? See what I mean about not quite making sense at all, really? I'd actually wanted to take this in a completely different direction than it ended up going in, but you can only do so much when the plot bunny bites, you know?
By the way, the title is from an absolutely gorgeous Coldplay song. 'Twas my inspiration.
...Lambo's birthday is May 28th, the same day as mine :D
If you review mine, I'll review yours! (And don't think I won't, either, because I definitely will - but really, there's only one way to find out, right?)