Happy Birthday (And Repeat)
Angst | Tsuna/Tsunayoshi S. | ~400 words
They were celebrating his birthday. Again.
A/N: i do not own katekyo hitman reborn!
in the end angst is the only genre i feel comfortable writing bleugh. crappy experimental drabble to keep myself writing. u guys dont even kno how happy i am that i didnt have to write other characters into this bless one person povs with vague descriptions of others. im planning a multi-chapter fic next, but im too lazy to write it and it bothers me thinking about it even tho i already planned most of it out. unbeta'd as per usual and thnx for dropping by
also, for those who are too lazy to check, tsuna's birthday is on october 14
Tsuna lost track of how many times everyone sung happy birthday to him; how many times they lit the candles, how many times –
Each.
And.
Every.
Person in the room fell to the floor in a bloody heap. He can barely remember when he could count the number of times this has happened to him with the fingers on his hands. He can, however, remember the looks on his family's faces as they rushed to protect him, each and every time, without fail. To protect him –
And he can't do anything but watch. He's frozen in a loop; a horrid, never-ending time loop that won't leave him alone. No, won't leave them alone.
He's always about to be the next victim, but that's when the clock strikes twelve and everything starts over. They sing the same song, they give him the same presents, they talk about the same things, and they're ambushed and killed the same way.
They all fight back, taking down men as they fall. Tsuna fights too; of course he does. But the end result is always the same – when he's about to die, one of them sacrifices their own life for his.
He tries to tell them before it happens, but the words never come out of his mouth. He's forever cursed with the fate of knowing that everyone he loved died for him.
And then one day, he wakes up not at twelve, but a minute before. Eleven-fifty-nine.
That one minute is enough to change the course.
He doesn't waste time, and at the split last second before the clock ticks to the next day,
Sawada Tsunayoshi is dead.
Happy birthday to me.
.
He wakes up to a bright, white room, and almost shrieks in surprise.
But then he sees them.
They're crowded around the room and his bed, all fast asleep, some with tear streaks down their face. Tsuna remembers the blood that seeped through their clothes, he remembers the bullets, the wounds, he still remembers. Then, he blinks.
It didn't happen this time.
It didn't happen this time.
They're alive.
They're alive.
And that's the last thing he thinks before he falls unconscious again.
The next time he opens his eyes, it's October 15.