Yamamoto Takeshi stared at the gleaming wooden coffin in front of him, his mouth set in a thin, straight line. Around him, countless members of the Vongola were crying and weeping, but his own eyes remained as dry as ever. Even now, he was surrounded by constant reminders of his idiocy, the what-ifs of his foolish actions. He knew, with painful clarity, that if only he had been slightly braver, slightly pushier, he wouldn't be standing here today.
He wouldn't have lost you.
"Yamamoto-san!" The dark-haired teenager stopped mid-whistle, blinking in surprise as he saw an unfamiliar figure running towards him. You were flushed and panting, exhausted from the fruitless attempts to attract the attention of the oblivious baseball player. Having finally caught up with him, you handed him the well-worn baseball cap you were clutching tightly in your hands.
"Here!" You beamed cheerfully at Yamamoto, still trying to catch your breath. "You left this in the field earlier on! Be more careful about leaving your things lying around next time, okay?"
Before the owner could utter his thanks, you gave him a smart salute playfully and walked away in the opposite direction, leaving him behind. Yamamoto laughed softly and put on his baseball cap, his eyes lingering on your retreating back. It may have only been the first meeting, and he may not know your name, but he liked you already.
Yamamoto felt the first pang of pain strike him squarely in the chest, an arrow straight to the heart. God, how he wished he could relive that moment ten years ago, that precious moment when he met you for the first time. Gritting his teeth, he shut his eyes against the pain, only to be assaulted by another memory.
"Yamamoto-san? Is that you?" Said boy turned around at the mention of his name and immediately burst into one of his trademark grins. It was you! Ever since you returned his baseball cap a year ago, he had tried to find you to give his thanks properly but only caught passing glimpses of your hurrying figure in busy corridors, soon lost in the crowd of jostling students. Who knew, after so long, you guys would be in the same class?
"Hey there!" Making his way to where you were standing, Yamamoto smiled at you even more brightly than before, nearly dazzling nearby students with his blindingly white teeth. "Thanks for last time! I've been looking for you all this time, but I don't even know your name!"
You grinned back, delighted that this incredibly popular boy still remembered you. "My name," you replied, gripping his hand in a firm handshake, "is (y/n)."
Yamamoto tried to focus on what you were saying, but he was distracted by the sight of his large, callused hands enclosed in the gentle embrace of your soft, warm ones, fighting the sudden storm of butterflies dancing in his stomach and the hot flush that was steadily making its way up his neck.
Yamamoto would have laughed if he could. How naïve he had been, how foolish, how ignorant. How could he have not known, back then, that it was the first stirrings of his love for you?
"You're going on a solo mission?" The tall swordsman was unable to hide his shock, his brows drawing together in worry. You had been a member of the Vongola for many years now, but you always had a partner when you went on missions. This was your first solo mission, and a dangerous one at that. You were to infiltrate the base of an enemy famiglia, and if possible, kill the mafia boss.
You nodded happily, barely able to disguise your pride at being chosen to take on such an important mission. "Yup! It's going to be tougher than usual, but I'll be back in no time!"
Yamamoto stared at you grimly, a seed of unease and fear beginning to take root in his mind. Like everyone else in the famiglia, he had confidence in your skills, but this kind of mission… An ominous sense of dread gripped him tightly in a vice-like grip. For some reason he couldn't explain, he knew he couldn't let you go. He needed to think of an excuse to make you stay.
"I'm pregnant." He finally blurted out uncharacteristically, twitching with nerves and not fully registering what he had just said. He didn't think and he didn't care. Every cell in his body was screaming at him, yelling at him to persuade you not to take up this mission, to give it up, to stay by his side forever.
To tell you he loved you, always had and always will.
You burst out laughing, the sound like silver bells ringing in the air. "Yama!" You giggled, wiping away tears of mirth from your eyes. "I'm sure you'll be a really great mom, so don't be too anxious!" You grinned up at him, expecting him to laugh along, but the unusual terror in his eyes dissolved your chuckles quickly.
"Yama," you said, softer this time, holding his hand like how you had done so ten years ago, still oblivious to the quickening of the older man's pulse. "I know you're worried about me, but I can handle this. I'll come back, I promise. You won't have to wait long."
With those words, you once again gave him a smart yet playful salute, flashing a bright, sunny smile of reassurance before walking away.
And like how he had done so ten years ago, Yamamoto watched you walk away with regret bitter in his mouth, his unspoken words dropping as silently and heavily as dark pebbles in the increasing distance between the both of you, lingering in the air like an unbearably sweet perfume. He'll confess when you come back, he vowed silently.
But what Yamamoto did not know was that he was watching you walk out of his life forever.
The final memory nearly brought the swordsman to his knees, crippled with an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. For the first time that day, he felt tears stinging the back of his eyes. He remembered how, in his teenage years, Gokudera would scoff at him and call him a baseball idiot, and realized the bomber was wrong. He was an idiot, yes, but not a baseball idiot.
He was a cowardly idiot who, in the end, had been unable to save the one he loved.
