Title: The Greatest Gift
Author: Carlile (notimetoreconcileme Tumblr, CarlileLovesAnime ffnet & AO3)
Rating: K+
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: GokuTsuna; Nana, Bianchi, Fuuta
Genre(s): Romance
Words: 3440
Summary: "Nothing I can think of could ever compare to the things he gets for me. He says he's perfectly fine with not receiving anything, but I don't want to do that to him anymore. Not this time."
Warnings: Just some poorly-written Christmas-themed 5927 fluff.
Author's Note: Done for the KHR Secret Santa Challenge on Tumblr in Arc 1, for valelevale. Request: "I looove 5927. A fluffy oneshot or drawing of them would be amazing! Or maybe just an everyday Tsuna or Gokudera drawing. :" Hope what you're getting is satisfactory (:
Disclaimer: If I owned KHR, would I really ship a non-canon pairing?
0o.o0o.o0
Nana shuffles into the living room with two full mugs of hot cocoa. She approaches her son and nudges him with one of the cups. He turns to her, snapped out of his trance, and takes the mug with both hands, whispering a thank-you into the steam as she sits down.
He raises the rim of the cup toward his lips, but stops before they touch – he can feel the heat and decides to wait. The cup is lowered to his lap, atop the thick blanket curled around him. He looks to the window again. Past his reflection, the sky is an impenetrable black, and flurries of snow drop, glide down from it, gradually turning the ground from slosh to fluff.
His mother can sense the trouble in his energies. Tsuna doesn't stare unless he's deep in thought. His eyebrows are upturned and his bottom lip is very slightly out, as if he is pleading for something. His grip is tight in anger. His shoulders are sloped at an odd angle – unconfident. She knows him well.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
Tsuna pulls himself out of his snowbound gaze and faces her, holding the cup higher, closer to his chin. He sighs. "It's really stupid of me," he says, and his eyes dart into his mug. His attention grabs desperately at the little bits of foam floating on top of the liquid, maybe to count them or watch them fizzle out one at a time. She lets the conversation break because she knows the silence will get to him more effectively than any series of questions.
It does. "I don't have a Christmas present for Hayato," he says. He grits his teeth, hard.
She glances at the steady fall of snow – at the fire in the fireplace – at her drink – back at him.
"It's not that I forgot, it's just… Every special day, any day, like, Valentine's Day, White Day, our anniversary, my birthday, Christmas, even no particularly special day at all, he gets me gifts, and they're always amazing. And then whenever there's an opportunity for me to give him something, I never know what, because nothing I can think of could ever compare to the things he gets for me. He says he's perfectly fine with not receiving anything, but I don't want to do that to him anymore. Not this time." For an instant, a loving look appears in his eyes, but it passes. His brows furrow and his knuckles grow white around the mug handle.
"And yet I have nothing. It's December twenty-third, and I have nothing," he says. The mug soars to his mouth, and he takes a large gulp from it. The hot milk goes down as though it's a punishment.
Nana grimaces, tries to reach for him in some comforting way. "You don't have to be hard on yourself, Tsu-kun," she says. It takes her a few seconds to figure out what else she should say. "What are some of the things he's gotten you?"
"He graffitied a mural for me on the underside of the Nami River Bridge one Valentine's. On my birthday a couple months ago he took me on a scenery-hunting hike, and provided art supplies for it – which I still use. And the last time I was sick, he bought a bunch of PS3 games, and we sat up in my room for, like, ten hours straight playing them together. There's a lot more, too, ah…" He looks blissful again.
"I remember that last one," she says. This leaves more silence, and she thinks within it.
"Well… what does he like?"
He doesn't have to deliberate for long. "Almost everything."
"Be more specific," she says.
"A lot of stuff. Clothes, jewelry, books of any kind, British TV shows, the paranormal and occult, animals, carpentry, cars, bombs, traveling –"
"Okay," Nana says, "What doesn't he like?"
Tsuna half-smirks at her, a didn't-I-just-say-so? look. This answer he has to think about. Finally, he says, "Seafood. Hayato doesn't like seafood." He nods a little, as if trying to confirm his memory. "Also, people who complain all the time about stupid things." He pales. "Oh, God, I am both of those."
"Calm down," she says. He's quiet for a minute. The snow keeps falling, the fire keeps swaying. The grandfather clock on the other side of the house chimes its half-hour signal.
"See, all the things that come to my mind aren't that great," he says. "His gifts are a perfect balance – a little money and a lot of time and effort. Plus, they all mean something to me or to us. I can't come up with anything like that. Tomorrow's going to end and then it'll be Christmas and I won't have anything for him, but he'll give me something amazing like he always does, and I'll feel even guiltier than before."
"Tsu-kun, your mind is probably cloudy because it's so late. You still have the whole day tomorrow to get something, right?" she says.
He nods.
"Then stop worrying. We can go out shopping tomorrow for a gift for Hayato-kun. At least looking at all the possibilities will get your imagination flowing. I'll help you come up with something. I'm your mom. I've got your back."
Tsuna accepts this, and the promise fills part of the hole in his mind left by doubt. He takes another sip of hot chocolate (which is now just warm chocolate.) The fall of the snow captures his concentration again. But this time his shoulders are fuller, and there's a swimming, romantic look beneath his eyes.
0o.o0o.o0
Drawings of the same subject cover almost every page of Tsuna's sketchbook. The artist's knees curl closer to his chest as he blows away a little eraser shaving. He takes his pencil away from the book, and before laying it down, closes his eyes and pictures Hayato in his mind. Thin silver hair, straight, parted in the middle, down to his jawline, choppy layers he has run his fingers through a million times. Deep eyes, thoughtful, scared, sad, tired from feeling too much, but sparking nonetheless, flourishing with light whenever his boss comes into view, a melted gray-green Tsuna stares into when he wants to lose himself. Hands that dance and shake, with their long, slender fingers and soft skin, he holds for reassurance. Expressive, taut, lightly bruised on the inside from all the nervous biting, the lips Tsuna's felt on his own in little bursts of emotion. Those are all Hayato's, right?
He opens his eyes to the white winter morning light coming at him from the window. Each of these things he has pictured, and more, is laid in ebony graphite on the paper, perfectly rendered. The drawn Hayato is in a dark trench coat, a to-go coffee in his right hand, and he's walking and his eyes are focused on some distant thing beyond the viewer. Tsuna can almost hear his boyfriend's voice as he stares at the likeness. He scribbles his signature in kanji in the corner of the page. Next he records the date: 20XX年12月24日. The numbers cause him to cringe.
When he woke up early this morning he figured the best thing to do, to kill time before his mother got up and the stores opened, was get his beloved's image fresh in his mind and on his hands. He hoped it would bring inspiration. He holds the sketchbook arm's-length out from his face and stares at it a bit, though, and it only makes him feel bad.
Hayato is beautiful, and he does so much for Tsuna. What do you even want? Tsuna asks this question internally, then aloud, to find no answer. There are many things he could give to Hayato. A scarf, a silver necklace, a set of books, a static camera. But those are nothing. Those are just some amount of yen and proof that Tsuna knows one of his hobbies.
Sure, Hayato will adore anything Tsuna gives him, even if it is so pointless as a dirty coin picked up off the street. He deserves much better, though – Tsuna knows this and he can't let it go. That's what makes it so hard. Hayato dreams, and he gives what a dreamer gives and in gratitude only dreams more. Tsuna's stuck on land.
An idea flashes across his brain. Maybe I could give him this picture. The idea atrophies and darkens away after a second, and Tsuna lowers the paper. As if he could do anything with a picture of himself.
He hears the scramble of children flinging open a door, trudging through the hall, flying down the stairs. "Kotatsu!" Lambo shrieks. There's a thud, another thud, a third, softer thud, and the great stir is now transported downstairs.
Tsuna sighs, flips the book closed, and drops it to the wood floor. The air nips at him, so, as with a Band-Aid, he whips all the covers off at once. He gets off the mattress and nudges the sketchbook deeper under his bed using his foot. With these kids' livelihood, the excitement of every morning is equal to Christmas for an average family. He doesn't want to imagine how hyper they will be tomorrow.
He makes his way to the kitchen, where Lambo and I-Pin are kicking each other under the kotatsu, and seven cups line the counter. Bianchi has her nose buried in her cell phone.
"Good morning, Tsu-kun," Nana says. She peers at the kettle on the stove.
"Sorry for the rude awakening," Fuuta says.
Tsuna shakes his head. "It's okay. I was already up." He squeezes his way under the last kotatsu spot, forcing his legs over the muddle of cold feet and fuzzy pants. He thinks, briefly, that perhaps he can ask the all-knowing Fuuta what the best thing is to do for Hayato, but then the consideration vanishes. It's too embarrassing.
The kettle shrieks, and Nana rushes to tend to it. She pours a helping of hot water into each of the cups on the counter. Then the tea bags are lowered. Tsuna can already smell them, the earthy tealeaves and overtones of vanilla and cinnamon that tingle at the back of his throat. The very scent of warmth. He smiles across the room at his mother, who approaches the kotatsu to hand everyone a drink.
Mom always knows what to do, he thinks, taking his cup and stealing a glance at the frosted-over window. Images of the River District float through his mind – tree lights, ribbons and tinsel strung along the undersides of bridges and the façades of all the shops. This part of town is always romantic, enchanting; that's where he's going to spend his time with Hayato tomorrow. Providing or not that Tsuna and his mother find the right gift.
And it hits him: Hayato grew up without a good mother figure. Little things like making free hot drinks and keeping house and helping her son look for a present for his boyfriend so he won't feel like an asshole – no one has ever done that for him. At the opposite side of the kotatsu is probably the closest thing Hayato had to a female role model, tapping away at the keys on her phone with her red- and gold-painted nails.
He slithers out from underneath the low table and takes his tea to his room, not speaking a word for some unfounded fear that exhaling from the mouth will take this thought away.
0o.o0o.o0
The river is slow and black, eating Tsuna's reflection as he walks alongside the water. His hands fidget inside his coat pockets. He can't forget the sounds, the movements he researched for hours on Christmas Eve and fell asleep practicing.
It's an hour and a half, give or take, to face his boyfriend. This needs to be perfect.
He sees him standing at the corner of a jewelry store, just where they agreed to meet. Hayato's wearing that dark trench coat Tsuna drew on him yesterday. He spots the Tenth almost as quickly as Tsuna spots him, and he stops shuffling his feet and his lips spread into a cute smile. When Tsuna comes a bit closer, Hayato begins to approach him.
They wrap their arms around each other immediately. Tsuna relishes Hayato's scent, which the crisp weather intensifies. Hayato presses his mouth against the side of Tsuna's face and neck, and speaks into his skin, "Merry Christmas, Tenth."
Just as he starts to feel very warm and comfortable like this, Tsuna pulls away a little and reaches up to lightly peck Hayato on the lips. Their eyes meet and stay locked on one another as they speak.
"What'd you get?" Hayato asks.
Tsuna explains a small list – a few volumes of manga from Fuuta, a laptop from his parents, a switchblade from Reborn (he doesn't know what he is expected to do with that) – then asks Hayato what he got.
"Nothing, really," Hayato says. He's unhurt by this. He's still smiling and the brightness of his eyes doesn't diminish at all. "My sister told me she has something for me, but I'm not entirely excited about that."
"I can see why," Tsuna says, and the two of them laugh.
The boys set off through the River District hand-in-hand, talking sporadically in low voices. Every few minutes Tsuna looks up at Hayato's profile and studies one detail each time: long eyelashes, celestial nose, pointed chin. Not too long afterward he has to yank his attention away. He's on the lookout for the piano shop. It's at the edge of the district, and they're heading in that direction. At the same time, Tsuna can sense the anticipation boiling underneath his boyfriend's skin. Hayato definitely has something planned for him. He hopes that it will wait.
It won't, though. He can tell by the way Hayato slows their pace, chews his bottom lip (a cute little habit he's probably not aware that he has), and then opens his mouth to speak, "Tenth," his voice cautious, smooth, melodic, fascinated, warming. The sound of his name like this sends fluttering tingles up the back of Tsuna's neck, and settles in his stomach and makes his arms itch to hold something.
"– What's the best Christmas present you ever got?" Tsuna blurts. He's looking at Hayato's profile again and sees his soft, romantic expression extinguish at the end of the question. It's painful to observe but he knows that it will stall him for the time being.
Hayato searches the air around him with his eyes. "I'm… not quite sure," he says with hesitation. "Depends on what you mean by 'best,' I suppose." He swallows, making his larynx visibly jump; sighs through the nose; bites his lip, releases it, smiles ever so slightly. "One I'll always keep close to my heart is from an innkeeper in Amsterdam. Shamal went out partying and didn't give me his key to the hotel where we were originally staying, so I would have been stuck out in the snow. This one guy let me stay Christmas Eve night in another room and even get room service for free. That turned a bad night into a time I could sleep peacefully."
The thought of such kindness makes Tsuna's mouth spread into a shaky grin. He loves the way his boyfriend talks about his experiences, even the worst of them: there are subtle lilts in his voice that only he seems to catch. At first an anecdote sounds like a real tragedy. Then it's enunciated like a work of fiction. And in the end, he always includes a little optimistic something, to show that he learned from the experience, to show that the negativity of it is gone from his thoughts now. Tsuna tries to view his own past this way, too.
"Tenth," Hayato starts again, lets a gap in soundlessness grow between them for a minute, and continues. "Tenth, there's something I would like to ask you, if you don't mind." His attention moves to a large building beyond the row of shops beside them. There's that dreamy expression on his face, eyes swimming and the corners of his lips upturned.
"I want to ask you something, too," Tsuna replies. He feels a sensation on his tongue that makes it twist about inside his mouth – he realizes the connection between his brain and his speaking must be damaged.
"Ah, you first, then. Sorry."
Tsuna shakes his head furiously, clasping his outer hand over his mouth.
"Go ahead," Hayato says politely.
"No. I take back everything." Tsuna squeezes Hayato's left hand. Hayato leans just slightly and looks his boss in the eyes. His gentle smile turns to a grimace. The two of them slow their pace and veer to the side of the walkway, courteously dodging a woman with a stroller.
He lays both of his hands on his boss' shoulders and hunches forward to meet his eye level. "Tenth, is everything all right?" he asks, his voice mellow.
There's a moment of hesitation, and then Tsuna forces his eyes shut (he can't look at Hayato's face while it's like this, while he's like this) and nods. When his head stops moving his eyes open and he grins. "Yeah," he says.
Hayato just stands there before him with a frozen expression. He lets the conversation break because he knows the silence will get to the Tenth more effectively than any series of questions.
It does. "I have – I have a present for you this year." Tsuna's eyesight gets sucked down to his feet, and he watches the sole of his shoe grind into the bricks. "I just hope it's good enough to be one of the best you've had." He grabs weakly at Hayato's elbows.
"Tenth…" Hayato says breathlessly. His hands slide down to the sides of Tsuna's shoulders; the fingertips dig in and then he lets go, and Tsuna lets go too.
"Tenth, you don't have to get me something," he says. There's a bashful smile on his face. "You're the…"
Tsuna finishes his boyfriend's sentence for him: "'…the only present I could ever ask for, and I don't need anything else.' I know, I know. You've told me this a million times before. And I know you mean it. But no matter how many times you say it I'm still going to feel bad."
He looks into Hayato's eyes. "I want to give you something, for once," Tsuna says. He raises his hands and cups the sides of Hayato's face. "I… I'm playing the piano for you. I spent hours finding the perfect song and practicing. I even got Bianchi to help me."
Hayato's jaw drops. Then he smiles, and it takes Tsuna's breath away. It's one of those long-awaited smiles that dwells deep inside the soul. The kind that makes another person's heart melt. Some mix of gratitude, disbelief, adoration.
"Tenth," he can barely get the name out. He holds Tsuna's face in return.
"I hope you like it," Tsuna mumbles.
"Tenth, I wrote a song for you," Hayato says.
"Oh, my God," Tsuna says, and he starts to laugh, and Hayato laughs too, and they let go of each other.
When the laughing dies down, Tsuna grabs around Hayato's waist and squeezes. He looks straight up at his face. "Would you teach it to me, then, once I finish the song I chose for you?"
"Of course," Hayato replies. "I wrote a version for two hands and a version for four."
Unable to stop grinning, Tsuna pivots to Hayato's side and takes his hand, and the two of them head down the sidewalk together again, towards the piano shop.
"I'm still not that good," he admits.
"That's perfectly okay," Hayato says. He frees the Tenth's hand and pulls him closer by laying his arm around his shoulders. "As long as you're the one playing, it will sound beautiful to me."
0o.o0o.o0
A sparse, far-spread crowd paces about the showroom, running their fingers along the bodies of the instruments and pretending to know what they're saying. But more people than average congregate around the grand piano in the back of the store. They stand and listen. The song ends. They clap.
"That sounded perfect, Tenth." The taller and paler of the two teenage boys sitting on the bench places his hand softly on the other's back.
"Thanks," the shorter one says. His shoulders hunch in excitement at the praise. He nuzzles his head against the neck of the taller one, who wraps an arm around his waist, kisses the top of his head, and whispers, "Merry Christmas."