-- Title: Proximity
-- Fandom: KHR
-- Characters/Pairing: 5927/gokutsuna, 6927/mukutsuna
-- Notes: AU, to an extent.
-- Rating: R
this is how the world ends
The first time Tsuna has sex, he understands one thing: it is not beautiful.
1.
"But I don't--," is all Tsuna can say, before Mukuro's grip on his arm tightens.
Mukuro takes him to a brothel house a little after he turns 19, and if he hadn't threatened to be his partner, then, perhaps, Tsuna would not have come. Tsuna has this nagging suspicion that if Gokudera were there, he may have gone into hysterics an hour ago, whereas his own family (and, consequently, the rest of his guardians minus Hibari who would have cared less) might have chalked it up as a normal scenario. He doesn't know if he should feel happy or pathetic about it.
They weave through the unfamiliar streets of the red light district; no one ever really stays long enough to know anyone else. Tsuna tries his best to stare at his feet the entire time. If anyone asks, it is simply a precaution, because the ground is wet and slippery enough to make him fall the second he takes a careless step. He wants to pull his arm away from Mukuro's hold, but it is, at least, a comforting warmth, and he doubts he can ever say no when he feels so strange and embarrassed and impossibly awkward, as if he were a girl on a date with her first boyfriend.
He is not, of course. Perhaps that is why he averts his eyes from looking at his companion's slender back; he knows that Mukuro will not look at anything else except forward.
2.
This is what he remembers of a scene he would rather forget:
"Please come this way," a young woman with a smile that knows too many secrets says – a hushed whisper, inviting, almost – and parts the curtains with a white hand
and
"Trust me," says Mukuro, and Tsuna looks at him, finally, with wide eyes that say I don't
and
satin sheets on a queen-sized bed with incense sticks and lit candles on the bedside table, what a fucking joke
and, finally,
a girl not older than him, with an expression as scared as he is, offered to him as if she were a dessert to sample on a silver platter
He does not look back when someone shouts for him to come back.
3.
It would have ended, he supposes, if Mukuro weren't behind this.
"I'd have you know she wasn't cheap," Mukuro clucks his tongue at him when the lights are out and Tsuna is the only one awake. If Tsuna were younger, he probably would have screamed at the unexpected visitor, "I thought she looked like that girl you used to like. What was her name again? Kiyo?"
"Kyoko," Tsuna spits out, suddenly livid at the provocation.
Mukuro dismisses the interruption with a careless wave. "The point is, I spent good money on her, and it was such a waste, too. And here I thought you were the type to accept gifts with enthusiasm."
He says the last word with a strange, flirtatious smirk, and Tsuna cannot bring himself to feel anything for him but something dark and deep and unfathomable, unidentifiable. If he were older, he might have called it desire, the excessive need to want another to be as close to himself as possible.
He does not dislike it, at least.
Strange.
"Well, Tsunayoshi-kun," says the older man with half-lidded eyes, "how would you like to compensate for my loss?"
4.
Tsuna stares at him for a minute, really looks at him, and begins to unbutton his shirt.
5.
"Can I pretend I love you?" Tsuna whispers in Mukuro's ear, a light, breathless noise he cannot stifle when Mukuro's nails dig into his skin.
"If you want to," Mukuro laughs, as if it were genuinely funny, and lets his nails scrape lower, longer, and –
"Fuck," hisses Tsuna, and Mukuro wants to push a little further in, thrust a little deeper just to hear him say anything, anything at all.
It only makes the pain rawer and more real when Mukuro doesn't kiss him, not even once.
6.
When he wakes up, the space beside him is empty, and he cannot help but feel a little lonelier than before.
this is how the world begins
The first time Tsuna falls in love, he understands one thing: there is nothing else to understand.
1.
They are fifteen and the world is beautiful and crazy and sometimes really fucked up, but it was alright, sometimes, especially when Gokudera takes Tsuna's hand into his and holds it tightly enough to bruise, as if he could not believe it himself. Tsuna wants to cry and laugh and smile, but the only thing he can manage is a shaky, uncomfortable whisper of, "G-Gokudera-kun, it hurts."
And Gokudera would overreact and beg for his forgiveness, but that's alright, he thinks, it's Gokudera-kun, and maybe Tsuna wouldn't have loved him this much if he weren't himself.
So let him make more excuses to make the physical spaces in between them larger.
Let him find faults in things he wants to keep close to his heart forever.
It is in this way that Tsuna first loves -- a selfish, irrational way of loving, for sentimental reasons.
2.
And so it comes to pass that they do not stay together forever.
There are many, many insignificant reasons, and many, many words that they should have said to each other, if only to create an understanding between them. It begins because Gokudera's father dies in a shootout, and it ends because, despite a few years worth of condensed heartfelt conversations and seconds spent in each other's company, it is never enough to depend on the past to make up for things he cannot say in the present.
Tsuna sees him off at the airport, and the last words they share are not valedictions or words of love, but empty promises of communication and little else.
When Gokudera does return, they are twenty-two, and the space of years without each other has taken its toll in their relationship. Admittedly, Gokudera cannot bring himself to act as eager as he once was whenever he is in the presence of Tsuna, and Tsuna cannot help but feel as if something were off in everything they do or say.
It angers Tsuna, because it is as if waiting were not enough.
It probably is.
3.
Gokudera finds out about Mukuro sometime between the first five drinks they let Lambo touch, and his expression would have been laughable if Tsuna didn't feel so awkward. They nurse twin cans of beer outside the house and stare at the moon like two old men nearing the last few days of their lives.
Gokudera is the first to break the silence. He always is.
"I didn't think you liked him," he says, and Tsuna takes a small sip before he can find it in himself to answer.
"I didn't think so, either," Tsuna responds, and he tries to laugh it off, but the expression on Gokudera's face is so serious.
"I've always wondered what it would feel like," says Gokudera, "with you."
"What are you—"
"I love you," whispers Gokudera, "I really, really love you."
And oh, Tsuna's heart skips and threatens to explode, and it is almost as if they were fifteen all over again and he was desperately, maddeningly in love with this boy.
But he isn't. He isn't. Not anymore.
"Tenth," says Gokudera, and all Tsuna sees is his green, green eyes before the moon is covered by Gokudera's lips, his tongue, his teeth.
It almost feels like a happy ending.
end