For Kyler
It was something of a foregone conclusion that, at three am, after a night of restless barely resting and entirely too much thinking, that Tsuna was more or less in love. His lip had been bitten to shreds, resembling an altogether more together form of his nerves, and he has never been more confused in his life. He is young enough for change, that he can recognise, but the young Vongola had never thought his mind could be so easily swayed towards his own team.
A shaky sigh leaves him as his body moves from side to side, finally laying flat on his back and staring, through a tilted head and sleep deprived eyes, at the window, and the sliver of the night sky beyond the curtains blocking the darkness from his sight. The stars burn surprisingly bright tonight, and Tsuna can't help the comparison to the man; black clad in a suit and strength radiating for them all to see. Eyes as dark as coal and a gleam to purify his soul, back to the times Dame-Tsuna was no good, and the world wasn't so much a scary place as almost unbearably routine. He doesn't know the name of the man in the suit, but his heart holds firm to the idealised view that maybe, he will see him again one day.
But he is Tsunayoshi Sawada, a bratty little kid known for his crush on the irreplaceable Kyoko Sasagawa, and as his resolve in his developing feelings deepens, the conflict of right, wrong-No, he shakes his head, hands moving to clutch at his hair and tug, sharp, to stop those thoughts. This isn't a conflict of right and wrong, but of new and old. Tsuna loves Kyoko, he's sure of that. He shouldn't be thinking of another man like that; it's too much of a new thing, he should just stay as he is, how he's always been. Dealing with unrequited love is much easier when the recipient is a woman, especially in this society.
He doesn't realise that the small sounds he's making, of frustration among various things, are all that loud, until a voice cuts through his thoughts and jolts him upwards, into a sitting position.
"Go back to sleep. You're sighing like a woman."
Eyes snapping towards the tutor's hammock, Tsuna's mouth opens, useless for a moment as he tries to gather words that aren't symbolic of what is actually on his mind. He conveniently forgets that the tutor always seems to see right through him , and that Tsuna is never exactly subtle when it comes to his emotions anyway. Amplify this by lack of sleep, and what could very well be his life story is displayed upon his face for the world to see, and for Reborn to silently judge.
"…It's been a long day. I just have a lot on my mind.."
Skipping over the comment, because wow he really does not want to go into such things at the moment, Tsuna turns till his back is to the arcobaleno, missing the movement of the other's eyes as they shape, alongside the rest of his facial features, a frown. A small body shifts in the slung hammock, sitting up himself in order to better observe the young Mafioso.
"I warned you what would happen if you disturbed my sleep," He starts, voice high strung with irritation, and an underlying tone of concern Tsuna forever misses in the shroud of fear. "So count yourself lucky, Tsuna, that I'm asking for an explanation rather than a bullet through your brain."
"I don't want to talk about it."
Reborn finds himself reeling, not expecting the petulant tone in the slightest; while the young boy has his moments of defiance, they are not usually so domestic. The concern wells a little higher, thoughts concluding that perhaps he was too harsh, expecting the boy to suffer a near defeat at the hands of his father and be completely unchanged after. Adolescence was a period of time Reborn counted himself lucky to pass through practically unharmed, and he chose the violent lifestyle for himself. To be thrown into this world, headfirst, flailing like an idiot, and remain resolute is something Tsuna will have his unspoken respect for till the time comes for them to part ways.
Even so, he must insist that the other talks.
"Tell me what is wrong, or I'll make you."
He doesn't need to go into detail for the other to understand that Reborn has his ways of making men talk. That he is unafraid to use them doesn't need to be said so much as stamped across billboards and flown behind aircraft for people to finally get the message. Making a noise of discomfort, Tsuna slowly turns his head, as if to gage the other's mood, deciding that he's serious the moment he catches a glimpse of those eyes.
"…I'm so confused."
His voice, Reborn thinks, has never sounded weaker, and something akin to regret wells up in response. Sometimes, it is kind to be cruel, though; Tsuna is not one for burdening others, but as with most situations, a burden he is not. It is healthy to release, for bottling up tension only leads to exploding, and as a Hitman, he's qualified to tell you that it isn't a very pleasant thing to experience.
"About?"
Leaving no room for hope, his tone is blunt, demanding answers the other should give, for the betterment of himself and the removal of internal pressures. A problem halved is a problem shared, a key concept even in the mafia world. Were the Famiglia fights not so much easier with those key people beside him, clued up and willing to back up the boss' choices? Even without that.. Reborn wanted to know. He wanted to help, and this wasn't a new development. With close quarters comes trust, and trust can bloom the flowers of protection. There is no-one more deserving of protection than your precious perso-pupils.
This form isn't the best available for what he wants to do. No, what he needs to do, the urge building, evolving into stronger forms with every moment that passes with the other. Watching someone grow from no good idiot into a strong young man isn't the best deterrent for these feelings, but a cursed body is the best defence, in the end, about denying yourself things that really shouldn't be available to you in the first place.
"Ju-Just everything." And he cannot stress the word enough. Hands moving to clench in his sheets, voice almost breaking with emotion, he looks at the floor, burning a hole in it with the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sick, Reborn. I'm just sick…"
Only a sick person would feel these sorts of conflicts. Only a sick person would find something so completely out of character so completely right, savour the feelings welling up inside of him. A noise of pure lost nature comes from his lips, and he curls up onto his side, back to the other once more. Maybe he'll be punished for his insolence, but the beatings always seem to clear his head. If this was a fight, his arse would have been handed to him by now, several times over. If it was a test, Gokudera would sit with him throughout the night, hell, all of his guardians would have done their bit. Kyoko would give a smile enough to break his heart and lead him to redemption all at once, and Haru's enthusiasm would march armies to battle.
But he has Reborn, just Reborn, and Reborn is the one constant in this life. He can count on the tutor, no matter the twists and turns of his tale, to stand above everything else and hold the learning curve of life above all insignificant details. By Reborn's side, Tsuna will fight through this, because a struggle is a struggle, whether with beliefs or with fists.
"I-I'm sick, and I don't deserve him."
The petulance of finality is always so hard to overcome, such a hard trait to breed out, but Reborn isn't the best for giving up in the face of adversity. Tone bland, he attempts a response.
"Don't deserve who?"
Another shaky breath is drawn, ragged from lips healing from earlier assaults, and Tsuna finds it hard to breathe. He wasn't asking for the tears his mother would offer, or even the firm handed over reactions of his father, though god only knows when Tsuna will actually ask that man anything regarding advice. All he asked was that Reborn didn't judge, so why did the tone of indifference hurt so much?
"The man. The man in the suit." Who, he realises a moment later, Reborn managed to completely miss. A moan of embarrassment, of discomfort and plain despair sounds, and he presses his face into the pillow. Had he been looking up, he would see shock written across coal eyes for a grand total of a split second, although as ever, emotions are so easily mistaken when tensions run high.
"Ah," And it's all the tutor can think to say. On one hand, the irritation that part of Tsuna's mind is so underdeveloped that he cannot make the obvious link between two very conspicuous elements is there, though that has more to do with his pride than anything. On the other, a flash of joy cannot be quelled, until reality sinks in. A curse, indeed, he notes dryly. "Perhaps you shouldn't despair so soon."
At this, Tsuna gives an oh so gentlemanly snort, pushing his torso up onto his elbows for the sole purpose of throwing a disbelieving look the raven's way.
"I shouldn't despair? Reborn, I'm-"
"Not gay?"
Really now, he should stop the creepy mind reading thing. Taken aback, Tsuna returns his face to the look of moments before, face creased in anxious existence as he lays down, soothed by how the other finally seems to understand, even as irritation kicks in at his own predictability.
"…I love Kyoko."
"I know."
"She inspires me."
"I know."
"I-I can't like another man. It's wrong."
"No."
The word cracks through the air like a bullet, and it takes just as long for Tsuna's eyes to meet Reborn's own unintelligible depths.
"…No?"
"No, Tsuna. It's not wrong. I thought more of you than this, judging someone on something so innate."
"I-I'm not judging!"
As the words come out in a very manly squeak, he hushes himself. Reborn is right, of course he is. When is he not? Tsuna is scared of judgement upon something he himself thinks about only when he is sure no-one else is around to possibly determine his thoughts. He is young enough for change, something Reborn knows through his job title alone, which means now could be the time to convince the youngster that love is love, that feeling something so pure isn't to be scoffed at.
"Calm down, Tsuna, and tell me why."
What does Reborn mean by why? There are so many questions the other could have posed, and of all the combinations, all infinitely more composed and actually asking something specific, he chooses 'why'. Tsuna makes a mental note to not be surprised when Reborn turns out to have a famous psychiatrist alias somewhere in the world, because this free association is simply too smooth for someone unfamiliar with the field. Closing his eyes, voice as soft as he can possibly manage, for the time had begun to catch up with him at long last, he begins, haltingly.
"…I love Kyoko. I know you know, and I know you know that everyone knows, but… But I do. So why is this happening? If anyone else had said they started to, you know… Like men, or women, or anything, I… I wouldn't mind. It wouldn't matter. A person is a person, I know that, but this is me, Reborn."
Moving to his back, the ceiling isn't graced with his eyesight, the lids finally closed by weariness and time combined.
"If I love her so much, then who am I if I don't feel the same any more? I-I mean, the feelings could go with time, but… They're the same. I adore her, but I'm attracted to him. Is… Is that okay?"
A tender note resounds in Reborn's tone as he returns the hushed speech patterns, glad that Tsuna has been lulled to near sleep at last.
"So long as you are the same person, and even then, people change through interaction. We are creatures of social interaction, and you know yourself that how you act at home isn't how you act at school. If you honestly feel the way you do, gender, sex, everything is irrelevant… So stop worrying, and get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."
With a murmured agreement, Tsuna nods, mouth remaining parted as the slow breath of sleep takes over the energy reserved for speech with surprising grace for the renowned no good Sawada. Now, though, Reborn has been left alone with his thoughts, his hatred for Checkerface, for his situation returning tenfold. He should have crushed the bud of romance, rather than encouraged it to grow, but as ever, pride gets in the way and distorts even the well laid plans of geniuses.
Tsuna would not, he thinks, have been surprised if Reborn had turned violent with his words, discouraged everything but normality and settled this now, once and for all. Instead, he has given the young one hope, and hope can cripple a nation in a matter of seconds. Reborn will destroy Tsuna's heart, and the sensation inside breeds the deepest self loathing he can muster.
Sure that the other is asleep, he carefully hops out of the hammock, ignoring Leon's stirrings as he moves to the window, and steps outside, staring up at the sky briefly, attention turning to the watch displayed upon his arm ever so proudly. Tsuna has gotten stronger, but at what cost? Tracing a finger along the digital display of just how much time he has left, he knows immediately that come morning, they will be missing a minute no-one will ever know what happened to. Closing his eyes, he activates the transformation, and vows that a minute will be enough, all he can allow himself. No matter the temptation.
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
Time is entirely subjective, a matter of opinion and entirely open to manipulation. What is an hour for a man emerged in every day life is life or death for a man hanging from a cliff by a thin thread, and what is a year for a human is seven for a canine; indeed, though, it can be argued that even this is a structure entirely proposed by mankind's need to modify it's surroundings into something measurable, even as emotions run amock with no meter sticks or counters for comparison.
Reborn was once a man of mathematical renown, but he was now, first and foremost, a man of instinctual living. A second was the difference between a bullet to the brain and a bullet in the wall behind your head, just as sixty of the units could make or break a successful endeavour, but nothing could compare to simply stopping, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike upon evaluating your opponents accurately.
In this case, though, the opponent isn't an enemy, but a sleeping young very underage boy, and sixty seconds is just that, though he is trying with all his might to find a loophole in the time space continuum to keep him in this minute for the rest of his life. As he steps back into the room, only two seconds have passed, and Tsuna is in the same position he was as Reborn left.
An unfortunate side effect of the watch was that, as your body transformed, you became suited in the clothes you were dressed in, upon starting the transformation, so as Reborn fumbles with the ridiculous sleeping suit that is so damn comfortable in his arcobaleno form, another five precious seconds slip away, ever elusive as the stupid thing bunches around his waist, never to be full on his adult form again, lest the fates wish blood to be spilt.
As he gazes, fond, at the sleeping boy, he carefully moves to his knees for a better vantage point, less likely to freak the other out upon waking, should that occur, to a complete stranger in the dark hovering over him half naked like some sort of pervert. Iemitsu did have some fatherly urges, after all, and he had seen up close how unnaturally good Nana was at handling knives. Sliding a hand along the brunette's cheek, with a ghosting touch he has perfected through the art of killing, he contents himself for a moment with the thought of a happy outcome for them both, even though the thought is completely ridiculous, and he has to bite, sharp, into the flesh of his cheek to stop himself dwelling too deeply upon it. Given the chance, he would show Tsuna a world of wonder barely visible to the human eye; climbing to great heights to make love as a sunset rises, enjoying a lover's embrace within the confines of the most compact hotels, observing nature at it's most natural in conditions from extreme heat to even hotter between the sheets, and he really does not want to think of why all his mind conjures are sexual images, not when Tsuna is still fourteen years of age and entirely untouchable.
As fifty seconds remain, tenderness is the keyword, from the thumb trailing along, still fleeting, soft cheek skin, to the look in dark eyes as they drink in features wrapped in slumber. Were it eternal, Reborn would play the prince, and brush his lips, ever so elegantly, against pale pink plush- against the slumbering captive, and steal him away into a world of fantasy, where animals can sing and love is always requited in storybook conditions.
Ticking down to forty-six, the timer serves as a reminder that eternal is a luxury no-one can afford to believe in. As a finger gently prods Tsuna's bottom lip, the brunette frowns, just a little, in his sleep, but remains undisturbed otherwise. Reborn is forever fascinated by the range of expression the younger male can display; switching in an instant from meek little school boy to a powerful avenger is a parlour trick most have come to learn, but it is the little, subtle twitches of nerves that keep him captivated as the other attempts to suppress his emotions. When Reborn is reading his mind, it is never so much telepathy as having studied Tsuna's face so carefully that every motion rings as clear as a bell in the midnight silence, a cacophony of emotions forming a symphony for Reborn's gaze; there is always time for an encore, when the Vongola Decimo is involved.
As Tsuna performs his usual concerto deep in the numb euphoria of sleep, the hitman pauses, pressing the pad of his index finger against the plush lip beneath his finger, tugging it out with all the precision his trade ensures. The sleeping boy remains just that, lips automatically opening at the little prompting Reborn has given, mouth a cavern begging to be explored. The discoverer, the one to go down in history for conquering such valuable estate, though, will not be Reborn, though as the time ticks to forty four, the hitman does allow a slight brush of their lips, together, in concordance but not in unity.
By forty two, Reborn is aware of the universe's inner workings, understanding the cruel mistress that is fate. Here he kneels, by the side of a being so pure Reborn could, indeed would give his soul for, but their hearts shall not join, for it is not written in the stars so dead, destroyed thousands of years ago by the natural force that is time, for student and tutor to become lovers. A small laugh leaves him, not quite bitter yet entirely mirthless nonetheless, and Reborn would very much like to wring the neck of the guardian deity keeping them apart.
Tsuna will move on from this night a new man, changed not by battles this time, but understanding that the world you see is only as warped as you allow it to be. Should the brunette awaken, and decide his loyalty lays with the pretty Sasagawa girl after all, as it has been since before the raven himself had met the youngster, then Reborn will accept that things are how they should be, and continue to perch upon Tsuna's shoulder, guiding with nothing but best intentions. How could he demand anything otherwise? Were he not a cursed man, perhaps there would be a fight, but were he not cursed, they would not have met. Were he not cursed, Reborn would not have watched the evolution into a being, not quite ready, but capable of changing even the natural order to suit his needs.
The timer slips into the thirties with all the grace of an earthquake, and Reborn finds himself in the grip of an urgency he has never felt so strong. His finger moves from resting upon a chin still curved in the shape of a baby's jaw to tangle in messy hair in serious need of a style, and here there is a mental note to push the boy for one later, guiding their lips together with all the precision of an elephant painting by numbers. He kisses him furiously, annoyance dwelling, bubbling up into a veritable volcano of pure hatred, that he cannot do this again, that he cannot wake Tsuna with a kiss that steals his breath again, amber eyes slowly opening, meeting dark coal as they part, lungs filling, before rejoining. It is messy, their teeth clash and Reborn has never had a partner who thinks it's a good idea to forget to breathe on purpose, but it is Tsuna's kiss, and he will treasure the memory for as long as he so shall live.
As they part, Tsuna's cheeks are tinted with the faintest rose blush, his eyes closed again as tension flickers through his veins, replaced by a slumbering happiness. He thinks, Reborn notes with an internal choke, that this is a dream. Perhaps it is best that he thinks so, for they have reached twenty seconds, the final countdown, and the hitman must speak faster, with more urgency than he has in his life.
"Don't talk. Just listen to me."
As a slow murmur of understanding leaves Tsuna, Reborn cups his face, pressing kisses along the bridge of the brunette's nose, across the smooth plain of his forehead, down to his lips once more as he speaks, words flowing in the urgent murmur he has chosen to adopt.
"You must forget about me. Your heart cannot handle the truth, Tsunayoshi, so you must give up."
A protest sounds, barely formed, but Reborn smothers it in another frantic kiss. He has ten seconds left; he must go, he must go now, but Tsuna is so warm, so accepting, so his in this moment in time and no-one else's. Reborn's, forever, in this instant.
"Don't deny yourself love, no matter the circumstances."
Tearing himself away, biting his lip, he exits through the window and runs, not wanting to be anywhere near the Sawada household, near his heartache and the circumstances he must suffer through alone. To burden others has never been in the Italian's nature, and to cause Tsuna distress is already tearing him apart. As Reborn reaches his destination, here meaning, nowhere at all, and as he returns to his cursed form, Tsuna sinks back into sleep, heart racing and lips moistened by another's tongue.
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
This is the day Tsuna always remembers it most vividly, when his heart aches with words spoken once, flung to the winds of time oh so recklessly. Today is the day the stars went out, and while Tsuna had never thought of himself as a destroyer of planets, the bullet aiming for his heart had pierced another's instead. As the Decimo stands before the gravestone, bearing a thousand names but nowhere near capturing the individual laying beneath, his heart mourns, creaks, snaps into yet another fraction of what it once was.
A dream can only remain a dream so long as reality does not invade your senses, and Tsuna has long since learnt to distinguish between the two of them. The hyper intuition woven into his dna is a blessing in battle, but a curse all of it's own, and as he takes the hat adorning his head, he thinks of the implications, moving it to his chest in a gesture of respect, bowing to the stone. A second remaining, after all these years, and Tsuna has never understood what could possibly be done with such a short amount of time, but as a wise man once told him, through the sound of gunfire and the unmistakable stench of death, a second can last a lifetime, when that is what you risk.
Love is not quite the word he is looking for, and admiration slips so easily from the tongue upon inquiries into his well being. When you have spent your adult life, and years before that, working in a perfect unison with someone who know the every twitch, vibration of your body, the pain when you lose them is indescribable. As Gokudera grinds a cigarette into the gravel with the heel of a well shined boot, sending Tsuna an understandably concerned look, the Decimo simply closes his eyes, and remembers a dream, once upon a time in a distant land, where their mouths met and he slept with the name of Reborn ever spilling from the tip of his tongue.
As his recollections build, frantic, to fever pitch, eyes open to amber, glaring at the sun, slowly widening to take the last look of burning gas, brightening up the sky, tossing out waves of warmth only the blessed catch. When he closes his eyes, white burns behind them, and when they open once more, Tsuna is full of the sight upon Gokudera's eyes. Frightened, he realises. Gokudera is terrified by him, and, the brunette laughs softly, cold metal braced in his hand, against his temple, ghosting down to his mouth until all he can taste is powdered death, he should be, because Tsuna has always been no good at keeping his hands from shaking.
The stars
The moon
They have all been blown out
You have left me in the dark
Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons
Cosmic Love - Florence and the Machine
Reviews are welcome~