Title: in through the gap
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Pairing: Yamamoto/Gokudera
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Amano Akira owns all rights to Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Summary: Gokudera's got a late night visitor.
A/N: I could write an essay on how much I don't want to do my university assessments, but hey, why don't I just write fanfic instead? It's been a while since I last posted any finished Reborn material.
Pebbles were sailing in through the open window. Landing with a pit-patter-pit-patter on the kitchen tile, Gokudera glared at them. Worse, the stones were covered with roots and scattered dirt everywhere, ruining the bleach and mop job he'd slaved over an hour ago. He didn't have time to ditch them back at the idiot. He had to keep an eye on his fettuccini sauce.
Gokudera knew exactly who his visitor was, vindictively poking at the lumps in the sauce. It could only be Yamamoto.
Besides Turf-head, no one else showed up at his apartment this late, and if it was his sempai, then the whole building would be awake from their shouting matches and violent threats about leaving each other dead in the gutter. At least those nights he knew exactly what to do to get rid of the annoyance. One mention of Kyoko needing help reaching something too high and that hothead would be gone down the road, drowning out even the call of cats with his roar.
No. This baseball idiot was much, much worse. Everyone in his building seemed to find him nice and friendly, that grocery-toting, old-lady-helping suckup. Regularly, Gokudera opened his front door to find Yamamoto-sized shoes on the shoe rack. He'd told his landlady a thousand times that Yamamoto wasn't to be trusted, and hell, what would he do if it was an assassin one of those days waiting for him, but that stupid woman just kept letting strangers into his hous-
"Gokudera! Are you awake still?"
He cursed and checked the sauce, finding the bottom crusted and burnt. Dumping it into the sink, he flushed his failure down the hole, ignoring his growling stomach. He had to take care of this nuisance once and for all before he could settle down.
Instead of sticking his head out into the vulnerable air, Gokudera slid towards the window, flattening himself against the wall. Slow like a cat that has all the time in the world, he positioned himself. Just as the latest round of gravel finished flying in, Gokudera whipped his hand across. With a slam, the glass came down.
That'll teach that baseball idiot.
Smug, he looked out at the night and the lighted street, feeling safer now there was a barrier. Below, with one leg over a low tree branch, was that sweaty idiot, still wearing his school trackpants and sports uniform. The sheathed baseball bat was slung on Yamamoto's shoulder and it didn't seem to weigh him down at all when the boy starts climbing, to Gokudera's horror.
The boy struggled to open his window an inch. When he'd managed, he whispered angrily through the gap. "Go home!"
"But I haven't seen you at all today!"
"Well, you've seen me now. Go!"
Straddling a branch, Yamamoto pauses to sniff the air. He was getting close now, and Gokudera watched him warily, wanting to stay so he could laugh when the idiot fell out of the tree, but at the same time, loath to give him any opening. Yes. He should stay and guard his property.
"Hey, you're cooking!"
"Hmph. Not anymore. Your stupid rocks got into my saucepan."
Hearing disgruntle in Gokudera's voice, Yamamoto easily balanced himself and clapped his hands together, a laughing, apologetic grin on his face. "Ah, sorry!"
Pointing at the ripped up grass mess Yamamoto had made, the Italian boy hissed through the crack. "You've ruined public property too! Even more reason why you should leave me alone!"
Frustrated, and aware that his stomach was doing weird things from hunger, not from the goofy smile directed at him, Gokudera flushed and put his entire weight into closing the window. Fate however disagreed and made the window jam with just enough room for a pair of hands to slide in. Which they did.
"I'll cook for you!"
That fucked up idiot had the audacity to try and look cute at him, peering up from his precarious position. So very tempted to let the fool hang there the whole night, the voice at the back of Gokudera's head spoke. His conscious would never be able to stand the Tenth's smile if he walked away and turned the lights off. And he couldn't trust Yamamoto not to snitch on him.
Sliding the glass up, Gokudera snatched the front of Yamamoto's shirt and pulled the heavy lunkhead inside. The sudden movement made Yamamoto bash into Gokudera with a surprised laugh and the two of them ended up on the floor, tangled and sprinkled with dirt. Finding his cheek buried against Yamamoto's chest, and hearing the thud-thud-thud-thud of a heartbeat unusually fast, the Italian quickly pushed his unwelcome companion as far away from him as possible.
With the smell of honest sweat and something that was plain Yamamoto lingering in his nose, Gokudera snarled and got up.
"I want a bento for tomorrow's lunch too."