Gokudera sat on the edge of the sofa, alternating his concentration between the documentary and the two babbling toddlers playing with building blocks on the polished floor. Gokudera had to restrain every inch of his muscle to refrain from reaching that alluring pack of cigarrettes in his chest pocket.
Che, fancy having to babysit stupid brats, even though he was the famed right-hand man of the Vongola Decimo. "Sorry, Gokudera, I know you don't like children, but you're the only one I can turn to. Ichinose and I have an important dinner..." Those sorry, pathetic words accompanied with that tone of voice he detested with every living cell in him.
Idiot as he always was, Gokudera thought, it's not that he purposely disliked his children. "It's just too difficult for me to like them."
"Ne, Gokudera-ojiisan," the daughter's sweet voice tinkled, a little too clearly and flawlessly, "come play with us!"
The younger boy behind his sister blinked at the scary-looking man who they see often, but were not familiar with. He flashed a toothy grin, his eyes creasing as though they were smiling as well.
In the angelic face of the spiky-haired kid, he saw a shadow of a certain baseball idiot. The jovial glow flashed across his face for a split second and in that split second, Gokudera almost thought he was Yamamoto himself.
But there was something else on the face of the small Yamamoto that didn't quite fit the reflection. He was a good-looking boy, extreely handsome, and perhaps pretty. And maybe, just a little bit too chastise and flawless. The purity on his existence; it seemed like such a big lie that never in any way reached the born hitman.
"Gokudera-ojisan?" the daughter probed once more, head cocking to the side.
While the girl inherited her oriental beauty from her mother, she had her father's personality programmed deep into her. Irritatingly noisy, and overflowing with unneeded concern for others. He almost felt the redundant worries touch him.
His children were like a wrong equation that looked right.
Gokudera forced a strained smile--gone were the days when the immature adolescent who let his patience crumble and resort to yelling at stupid cows, he had learnt to mask his disdain--and shook his head. "No thanks, I'll just head to the balcony and take a puff." He pressed on the remote control's button to wipe out the image on the screen. Stupid documentary, they got their facts all wrong.
"Daddy told me to tell you that smoking isn't good for you," Ayumi stated, staring after the Italian's back with gleaming eyes.
Gokudera almost instinctively turned around to shoot a yes-I-fucking-know-but-I-can't-fucking-help-it look. But Ayumi's innocent face came into view; she was not the idiot, he realised. So he replaced that with a sigh, running his hand through his tangled locks of silver hair. He flashed an apologetic smile instead, "it'll be just for a while."
Once enveloped by the sharp, cool air of the night, he hated himself for not ridding himself of the reaction he would have given when he was in his teens. That was almost his only answers to all of Yamamoto's relentless reminders, yet he never stopped telling him despite the hostility. At least, until that day.
Gokudera thought the emptiness that whipped him suddenly was due to the newfound freedom from the naggy idiot. He just needed a little adjusting to, that'sall. It was something he took ten years to get used to, and he was still uneasy with that. That's fine, because it's something that was a little harder to adapt to, he told himself.
In the ten years he spent trying to come to grips with the release of Yamamoto's grasp on his heart, Gokudera matured into a more temperate man with an intellect and emotional quotient that was much more mellow. His dictionary of foul language shrank bymore than half, reserving them for more suitable occasions, like when his life was put on the line. He was no longer the brat ten years ago who blurted out whatever that struck him, regardless of whether he meant it or not. And in accompaniment his stubbornness which would make him thick-headedly stick to whatever gibberish he said.
The free yet dense snow white wisp escaped his lips and dissipated into the night. He silently wondered, if he was the brat ten years ago, would he still be standing here like some pathetic single man, and would there even be those kids for him to babysit at all.
--
"Wha-What?! You-You're a fucking baseball idiot! A-And you're a... a guy! A fucking guy! Quit shitting around, damn it! This is no time for a fucking joke!"
He caught those ember eyes flinch a little, but they continued to remain so crystal-clear, with just a thin shield of mist blurring the flame in those soulful eyes as they neared. "Gokudera--" Hot, burning skin met his arm.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Gokudera immediately slapped his hand away, and in a harshly violent way. He remembered hearing the sound of bone hitting the edge of the hard table. Yamamoto's shoulders tensed at the pain that shot through his arm.
"Ow..." he hissed as quietly as possible, clenching his teeth. He hoped to tuck away the forming bruise, and the cracking heartbreak.
But Gokudera did anyway. His chest heaved as he peered with his wide, shock-filled eyes at the taller boy's raven-black hair. Just now, when Yamamoto touched him, his heartbeat did go berserk, and his nerves were tingling with a gratifying wave of electric shock all through his body. His senses were still quivering, trying to grab hold onto the warmth that was rapidly leaving his arm. Was that the way to ask for more of that warmth?
His mind was in such a whirlwind of mess and jumbled thoughts being flung across, his body decided to take over.
"Gokudera, you--"
"DON'T COME NEAR ME!"
Come close.
"I don't want to see you ever again!"
His senses told him he couldn't stand a day without seeing the moronic face.
"Get out!"
Stay.
"I... I ha-- I hate you!"
Although he wished he doesn't.
Gokudera's terror-stricken eyes had Yamamoto's frozen expression reflected in it. They sat there staring, petrified, into each other's eyes. And without warning, Gokudera's adrenaline hauled him up to dash out of the room.
As he felt wind pummel his face he kept yelling at himself. Why was he running? Hadn't he been waiting for this for six years already? Fuck, why didn't he realise that all these sudden urges to see the idiot's face, all these sudden over-agitated reactions towards his every word, all these sudden need to look presentable to him, all these sudden concern for him when his smile damnpened even by just the smallest bit, meant so much more than just friendship, and beyond that of close friends. Fuck, it was that bitch Love people kept babbling about.
He would catch up, he assured himself as he let fatigue devour his muscles. That idiot's so damn stubborn, he's sure to catch up on me and tell me the same thing again.
Two days passed, and Yamamoto's life went on as usual, as if that never happened. And along with memories of that day, Gokudera's existence was erased as well.
--
Gokudera remembered hanging out alone in the Namimori park, puffing on his cigarrette as he eyed suspicious people. Instead of potential aggressors, he caught more than an eyeful of couples, hand in hand, taking a stroll down the ambient, quiet path. It pissed Gokudera off very much, like life being the bitch it was and sticking its ass in his face.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a tall male figure go on one knee. "...will you marry..." the muffled words were largely unclear, but something oddly familiar about the voice forced a dreaded, sour feeling to materialise inside him. He turned to look in the direction.
Gokudera hoped furiously that his ears heard wrongly. Choked words came, loud and clear this time--bitch of a life--"yes, Yamamoto."
Gokudera couldn't even figure out when did he get a girlfriend for himself. He never heard anything about Yamamoto chasing a girl from the mouths of the other guardians much less dating one. And now he's slamming the fact that he's married deep into his face, leaving it bruised and bloodied, like the trail that fell from the corner of his eye.
--
One night after Yamamoto was done cleaning up and snuggling in under the blanket, his wife asked quite suddenly, "Yamamoto, do you love me?"
He raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Haha," he laughed, "why else would I marry you?"
Mitsuki replied, with a grim attitude, "Yamamo-" She sighed and continued sharply, "Look, we're still calling each other by our last names, even after we've been together for almost ten years."
Yamamoto scratched his head, laughin sheepishly, "well, we're used to that I think. Old habits die hard. Besides, whether we call each other by our first names or not doesn't dictate our affection, right?"
Mistuki suddenly turned solemn and faced Yamamoto, not caring that her blanket dropped and revealed her bare chest. She noticed Yamamoto blushuncomfortably at the sight of her torso. "I have been getting the feeling that I was some replacement for someone. The way you look at me is the same as the way you look at your friends. Do you look at me as your wife? Do you... whole-heartedly love me?" She bit her lip, hoping the answer was not the one she expected, even though she knew there was one person Yamamoto didn't dare look at, and she wouldn't want to know how he would look at that person.
Yamamoto blinked at her, keeping silent. The silence seemed so long it was enough to suffocate someone. "Ichinose..." Yamamoto smiled and reached in for a hug. "Of course I do."
Ichinose's eyes closed, not telling him that his hug was stiff as always, and he kept calling someone else's name when they were in bed. She knew the truth, but had long ago accepted the evil men do, because she didn't want to lose him.
--
"Na, nee-san!" a high-pitched voice squealed in delight. "Look at this!"
There was a long pause as there seemed to be some sounds of metal hitting marble eluding from the living room. "Ohh! Isn't that Lambo-nii's toy?"
At the mention of the Vongola thunder guardian's name Gokudera immediately whipped his head around, only to be greeted by the sight of the large, purple bazooka in the children's hands. Damn, it must have been left behind when the Bovino was babysitting last time. And shit, there had always been some faults with it, god knows what will happen to the children! Immediately, he tossed the cigarrette away and pounced towards the toys.
An explosion and the dissipation of thick, purple fumes later, he found himself staring at an astonished twenty-year-old Yamamoto. "Gokudera... from the future?" he enquired, eyes round and wide.
Gokudera ignored him and surveyed his surroundings, letting his instinctive observation skills take over. He was in a small room plastered with a few posters of baseball stars, and had bats and baseball jerseys lying around. There was only him and Yamamoto in the tiny bedroom. Nolstalgia and deja vu hit him like a truck.
Frantically, he grabbed Yamamoto's shoulders, clasping hard and impatiently. "Yamamoto! Are you confessing to me now?"
Yamamoto paused for a while, studying how much more refined and matured thirty-year-old Gokudera looked. His muscles seemed bigger although more defined, and his lily white skin got a little darker. His eyes were sharper, his jade-coloured pupils shining through his lids. His ear piercings seemed to have increased in number too. He had not seen Adult Gokudera for a long time, almost six years he supposed. He automatically beamed like an idiot at the sight of the hotter Gokudera.
Then he remembered the question, and quickly nodded, albeit with a red hue under his skin. He wondered if Adult Gokudera would tell him whether it was a success or not.
"Then listen," Gokudera commanded, "whatever I say later, I don't mean it. And come to think of it, you should have known how my mouth and brain works when I'm under pressure, you dimwit. Anyway, however hurtful my words sound later, I mean the exact opposite. And you, don't fucking be so damn insecure about what I say too! If I ran away, that meant I want you to run after me." He took a deep breath from saying all these in one breath. Having calmed himself down, he ordered in a more collected tone, grasping Yamamoto's taut arms very tightly, "and whatever you do, don't you dare find a fucking girlfriend as a substitute. You'll just turn into a bastard and hurt everyone around you, and that won't even solve the problem you think you're trying to solve. You can't fucking solve a damn problem in high school, what makes you think you can solve this one now anyway huh?"
Gokudera almost doubted his memory of of Yamamoto's intelligence when the younger boy's mouth curled up in amusement. He broke into bright, light-hearted laughter, something that lanced through Gokudera's heart so painfully, peeling away the scab that formed around the wound and letting the joyous voice stab at the bleeding cut.
Wiping away a tear, he looked at Gokudera with his child-like eyes, "You speak so fast, it's funny!"
"It's no fuck to be laughing about when you know what will happe--"
"Ne, Gokudera," Yamamoto finally ceased his laughter. His smile remain etched on his lips still. "In the future... are we happy together?"
Gokudera froze. Time crawled past at a miserably slow pace as a thin layer of mist enshroud his eyes. "............ah."
--
When the twenty-year-old Gokudera of his time returned he was heaved into a suffocating hug by Yamamoto. Gokudera, in addition to the shock of the sudden leap in time, was far too dumbfounded to speak.
"Gokudera, I like you very much."
"...Wha-what?! You-You're a fucking baseball idiot! A-And you're a... a guy! A fucking guy! Quit shitting around, damn it! This is no time for a fucking joke!" He thrashed about, eager to break out of the comfortable, tranquilising embrace.
But Yamamoto just pulled his chest closer to him, so close that he could feel Gokudera's heart beat against the side of his chest where there wasn't a heartbeat. "I like you a lot too."
Gokudera deduced that the scheming rain guardian used his rain flames to alleviate his spikes of anger, because he did give up the fight fairly quickly, reduced to a helpless sigh. Still panting, he whispered breathlessly, "...idiot...you..."
"Let's stay together forever, ne?"
Trust the idiot to say such embarassingly mushy words. But this is the idiot afterall. ".....promise?"
And it was that "nn" from Yamamoto's throat that made Gokudera decide to dump the image of the family portrait he saw in the future to oblivion.
--
Gokudera gazed at the children, with a deep crease in between his furrowed eyebrows. He looked away, not daring to look at them. "Sorry," he mouthed, to both the children and Yamamoto.
The chastise, delighted squeals of the children were engulfed by the black, contaminated evil of men.
A/N: I know, I know, big failure at trying some deep, profound, Shakespearean (it might be interesting to know that he is gay), literature piece. Well, there's a reason I fail literature class in school. XP But I still hope it's entertaining enough!
Reviews will be loved, oh kind people! Thank you for reading!!