Hey Hazzy, here's your 2700 fic as requested~
Year Round
Even though the seasons pass by and we slowly grow older, the one thing that will never change is my love for you. 2700, Tsuna's POV.
Spring – 2 Years Later:
It started that day after classes ended, when we were lying down next to the riverside on our backs while we faced the sky. Tears were slowly running down the sides of my face and in to the grass, camouflaged among the dewdrops. You were next to me, watching me out of the corner of your eye but pretending not to, letting my shame release itself in solitude. I remember the hopeless feeling I had in the pit of my stomach, the screams that longed to sound from my mouth. The memories of the utter humiliation from earlier events which I did not wish to recall.
You rolled over so that your face was above mine, your eyes, the color of red garnets, showing both compassion and reassurance. Unable to help yourself, you brushed my tears away with the soft pad of your thumb, murmuring little encouragements and pretty words. "It's okay, one day you'll meet the one destined for you…" When? When will 'that day' be? I want to ask so badly and yet am afraid of hearing the answer. But you gaze in to my eyes and smile. "I'll always be here for you…" the words gave me hope. You rolled away again and resumed gazing at the endless blue. I look over after a few minutes and realize that you're asleep.
The wind brushes your bangs in to your face, and I move my hand to smooth them away. My fingertips trail down your downy cheeks and to your mouth, your lips looking so soft and perfect that I want to touch… but then your hand grabs my arm and I give a small cry of shock. I am afraid, but your smile is gentle. "What's the matter?" you ask with a trusting voice, and I feel a queer thrill run through me. Nothing, I say, is the matter. You only had dirt on your face. You let go of my arm and whisper, "I see." Is it just me or do your eyes look disappointed?
My face, I know, is as red as your hair. But I hide it in my arms and pretend to be fine. We again lapse in to silence, and I peek at you again. At the same time, you're peeking at me.
I hide my face again and wonder again when that 'one day' will come.
.
.
Summer – 5 Years Later:
It is summer, stifling hot. We're at the local convenience store, attempting to ignore the stares. We hear them whisper, wondering what two of the most powerful men in Italy are doing in such a quaint little shop. The woman at the counter won't stop batting her eyelashes at you, and I feel irritated, but I tell myself it is the heat. You pay, despite my protests, and carry all the bags. Let me help, I say, attempting to grab one of them. You smile at me and my heart quickens, feeling my face grow warm from a source that isn't the blazing sun. As I attempt another half-hearted grab, you dodge and press something cold across my forehead.
"Eat it," you say with a grin. "You can help me lighten the load."
I reluctantly unwrap the icy treat and suck on it. The bold taste of cherry blazes through my mouth and colors my lips red. I lick them and I hear your breath hitch a little, just a little, and I wonder why.
"Let me have some," you say, and envelope your hand within my own to guide the sweetness in to your mouth. I try to object with a laugh but then, with your eyes turned up to me, your tongue slowly licks a trail of melted syrup off my thump. I swallow and avert my eyes, trying to think of a way to remonstrate you but at the same time thinking that I didn't want to.
"You taste like cherries," your voice is teasing but there is an underlying sensuality in your words. I breathe shakily and search vainly for a witty retort. Obviously I fail.
You release my hand and continue walking. "Come on. They're waiting." I follow, watching you warily. I marvel at how we have changed, changed from being two friends to being what we are now. But what are we exactly?
Even after all these years, I still do not know.
.
.
Autumn – 7 Years Later:
I escape from the ballroom to the balcony, where a cool breeze blows. I run through my head the people who have come to the annual party. The many Famiglias flash through my mind and I sigh, wondering how to survive the night. The music behind me swells and falls and the laughter and chatter never ceases.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I spin around in surprise, meeting your eyes that are like garnets. I ask why you were here and you reply because I am here. The answer gives me a pleasant feeling from the top of my ears to the tips of my toes. I notice that your tie is crooked and I reach over to fix it. I pull up close and too late, too late, become aware of the proximity. I blush and attempt to pull away but you catch me around the waist and hold me close. "Finish what you started," you murmur. Your breath tickles my ear, making me shudder. I comply, gingerly redoing the knot, and drop my hands. Even after I finish you still haven't let go.
I turn in your arms and gaze out towards the forest surrounding the castle. It is dark and mysterious, and with the wind it becomes a rippling ocean of shadows. You are taller than me, I am uncomfortably aware, and your shoulders are broader. But as a draft blows by, I huddle backwards in to your warmth and give a small hum of satisfaction. Judging from how your arms tightened, the noise had not gone unnoticed. I work up my courage and softly ask the question that has been pent up for so long.
"What are we… exactly?"
You rest your chin on the top of my head, not in the least bit surprised by the sudden inquiry. You do not answer, not for a long time.
"… We are…"
A sudden crash sounds behind us and we break apart, desperate to see the source of the interruption. There are screams and gunshots followed by the roar of madness. Party crashers are wreaking havoc within the ballroom, scattering the guests left and right.
I look at you, not realizing what desperation my face showed. You looked back at me and smiled that same, sad smile. "We'll talk later," you say, and run back inside. After a moment's hesitation, I follow.
Later that night when I am showering alone to wash the blood from my hair, I realize that I have not received an answer.
.
.
Winter – 9 Years Later:
I am again looking up in to the sky, wondering how something so blue could turn so gray, when something warm presses against my cheeks and I jerk away in surprise. You are standing there, a warm can of coffee in each hand. You hand me one and I nod my thanks. Both of our hands are ungloved, and the heat is a welcome comfort. You brush snow off the bench behind us and gesture for me to sit. I obey and go back to staring up at the sky. You notice and ask me why.
"Do you think we go up there when we die?" I ask childishly. You raise an eyebrow, rightfully surprised, and reply with a question of your own. "Why do you ask?"
I don't answer because I don't know how. I want to tell you everything, but I know that I cannot because the 'me' of ten years ago has yet to meet you. And the more people know, the more 'that person' can discover what we are up to. And so I bite my tongue and keep silent. You will not resent me – I know you won't – because you also have secrets that you are unable to share.
I finish drink my coffee and absentmindedly crushed the can; now a habit. You follow my example and at the same time we thrown them towards the trash bin. Yours goes in. Mine does not. I wonder if it's a sign of things to come.
"You've been talking a lot with your Cloud Guardian lately."
I blink at the sudden interjection and look at you, trying to discern what you are feeling. Your face, however, is perfectly blank; a skill obtained from years of practice. But your body posture tells the whole story and I laugh. "Yes, I have," I say.
You shift your feet and re-cross your legs. "Why?"
I snort in amusement at the question. I had asked myself that many times. "Because he is the most reliable."
You are silent for a moment and I, now feeling rather lighthearted, attempt to catch a snowflake on my tongue.
"More than me?"
I glanced at you, with your poker face and telltale posture and once more laugh. "Nobody can compare to you," I say sincerely. Now silent, you contemplate my words with that ever thoughtful frown on your face. The crease between your brows is more prominent than it was when we were children.
I feel your hand enclose mine and slowly enlace my fingers with yours. I don't look at you, but I know that you are smiling. The winter world is freezing and bitter, but our entwined hands are so warm.
As we walk back together, still holding hands, I gaze up at the cold sunlight and wonder when our spring will arrive.
.
.
Spring – 10 Years Later:
Now I am seated next to your gravestone, scratching at the fine white marble with a rusty nail. I try to carve in my name, in to the marble which seems to lock you underground, and sigh as I fail. But I keep doggedly trying. As I work, I wonder why I've never told you how I feel. Or why you've never told me how you feel. We simply knew each other's thoughts and avoided the subject altogether.
I do not remember when you died. I only remember seeing your devastated body, covered with abnormal wounds and dried blood. I remember only looking at your face, wondering why you were lying in such an unsightly position to sleep. Then I remember waking up in a hospital bed, wondering why I was not beside you.
A drop of water falls on to my nose and I wrinkle it, not liking the wet feeling. A drop turned in to two, then a drizzle, then a fine spring rain. It seemed that the whole world wanted to mourn your passing. Or perhaps the sky sent the blessed shower because of my inability to shed tears, simply because I did not believe that you were gone for good.
An umbrella is held over my head and I turn, briefly hoping that it is you and disappointed when it is not. What should have been red was black and dull garnet was instead a stormy blue. His eyes do not have your warmth and sadness which I love; only an aloof coolness that reminded me of a solitary cloud. He spoke to me in a fine, rich tenor, not your voice which could charm me so.
"The meeting will start soon," he says. I force myself to listen to a voice which is not yours. "Pray that your luck will hold out on this ridiculous plan of yours."
"That is my line," I manage to smile normally. "Good luck."
As the cloud and I sojourn back to the shelter of the castle to prepare, I look back at your grave and give a silent vow.
I will bring you back… I swear it.
Turning again to face ahead, I stride on, ready to face the biggest gamble of our lives.
I've always wanted to try a story like this, where the two people in love don't actually confess their feelings; they just know. It's irritating, repetitive, and yet at the same time, painfully sweet.
Requests are welcome~