Gokudera is expecting the phone call when it comes. It's late in the day, the sun starting to sink into red and gold on the horizon, but that means the baseball team should be finishing up their practice, and that means Yamamoto is about to call. It's become nearly a routine in Gokudera's life, the phone ringing late in the evening, Yamamoto's laugh on the other end when he picks up, and then the fifteen minutes of completely inane conversation while Yamamoto walks home from school and Gokudera insists he will hang up without actually doing so. He's just learned to expect it, now, so when his phone rings he doesn't startle, doesn't even look at the caller ID before he picks it up.
"You ought to be old enough to walk home without needing someone to distract you," he growls as he pushes his book away, leans back against the edge of his bed so he can settle into the conversation he is expecting.
The voice on the other end isn't the one he's expecting. "Gokudera?" It's rougher, lower, so different than what Gokudera was expecting and so out-of-context from the usual insulting nicknames he's used to hearing in that tone that it takes him a moment to place.
"Lawn head?" He can feel his expression falling into lines of confusion; he's not sure Ryohei has ever called him, didn't even know the other had his number. "Why are you calling me?"
"Gokudera," Ryohei says again, and this time Gokudera can hear the strain on his name, the ache of sympathy under the syllables. He's suddenly not sure Ryohei has ever referred to him by his name before, is having a cold chill of premonition even before the other says, "Bad news."
"What?" Gokudera is on his feet before he thinks, pushing what he was doing aside. "What, what is it, is it the Tenth? Where are you?"
"I'm at Central Hospital," Ryohei says, and Gokudera is making for the door without bothering with a jacket, icy terror turning into adrenaline in his veins. "It's not Tsuna. You need to come straight here."
"Don't be fucking coy," Gokudera snaps, temper running frayed and tense as he steps out into the dying light and slams the door behind him. "What the fuck happened?"
There's a pause, hesitation like Gokudera's never heard in Ryohei's voice. Then: "It's Yamamoto" and even Gokudera's nervous energy goes still, freezes him with his hand on the gate.
"I found him at the school," Ryohei's voice is saying, and Gokudera's barely hearing the words, Gokudera's lungs aren't working while he waits for the confirmation he needs, the reassurance that he can go on breathing. "They brought him straight to the hospital. You need to come."
"Is-" Gokudera starts, and all his strength fails him, the words too horrifying to let slip out into reality.
"He's alive," and Gokudera's breathing kicks back on, rushing desperate like it's trying to make up for lost time. "You should-"
"I'm coming," Gokudera says, the words sounding odd coming past lips gone numb, and hangs up before Ryohei can say anything else. The phone goes in his pocket, the gate opens under fingers he can't feel, and then he's running, taking off down the street at a pace too desperate to sustain for long. He knows he can't make it the whole way running like this, knows he ought to slow down to let his lungs catch up to his movement, but his heart is pounding frantic in his chest and if he runs fast enough maybe he can lose the sense at the back of his head that this is what he deserves for trusting to routine.