'Siamese Cities'

by Mien

My part of the lyric wheel challenge on the LJ community.

Original song was 'Siamese cities' by Metric.

Neither the song nor Hitman Reborn is owned by me.

It was a cold, rainy Saturday in the seedy backstreets of Kabuki-cho.

There, the wind seeped through the cracks in the windowsill into the small, smoky back room on the top floor of a modest little Italian café, hidden amongst the sordid bars and love hotels. The cold air washed over Gokudera, chilling him to the bone. He shuddered, taking a long drag on his fading cigarette and fingering the fuses of the sticks of dynamite hidden in his pocket. His fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper, forwarded to him that morning, containing an urgent summons back to Italy by the Ninth leader of the Vongola. He patted it once, making sure that it was still there. His reply had been prompt, formal. He would have to go.

He didn't really like the idea of going home. Palermo was a city of history, of ancient hidden secrets, violence, and of things he'd rather forget. A place of tall stone monoliths, barren churches, hard pavement, and wet boxes to sleep in – the classical order of things for a tramp with no home and no respectability. It had been years since then, but… there were always the memories. It was just so natural in the city for Gokudera to feel a sense of familiarity with the fading season. On the streets, no matter where he was, there was a certain tension, a knowing that there was the possibility that you may not make it to see spring, that the coming winter would be your downfall. That anticipation, that uncertainty was the same. It was not made better by the news he had received.

Autumn in Tokyo was not quite the same as autumn back in Sicily. The same shades of red and orange seemed artificial here, existing alongside the flashing neon lights of the hotels and sex shops and complimenting them in a stark conflict of nature and technology. They were muted in the screen of rain, but their presence was comforting. To him it seemed as if the dark crimson leaves were exerting their final reserves of power, releasing a last burst of colour like a dying will before falling to the streets, where they were swept up with ease or left to melt into the paved stone ground.

The leaves in Palermo were brighter, the hills of the Italian countryside undulating into the distance, with the red and white-bricked houses creeping up them deep into the southern countryside. On the outside, it seemed peaceful, but the reality was different, hidden underground. Tokyo was vividly open, like Kabuki-cho at night – mad, bad and dangerous to know. That wasn't all though. The main difference between the two cities was that here, here in this shining sparkling city of lights and colours, there were late-night ramen shops on the side streets and convenience store lunchboxes; there were friends, family, and there was Tsuna.

Tsuna had grown over the last few years to be everything Gokudera thought he would be. He was now the fledgling tenth boss of the Vongola, taking off on his own with only the smallest amount of backing by the fading Ninth. Tsuna controlled the East-Asian mafia with dignity and respectability, and had been Reborn's biggest success. But now, his success was Gokudera's biggest problem. The Ninth's trust in Tsuna was great enough to call away his right hand man. Even Gokudera wondered if Tsuna really needed him as much as he did before, as a friend or as a family member. Either way, troubles were brewing in Sicily, and the urgency of the situation would bring Gokudera so very far away from the person he most wanted to watch over.

---

Across from Gokudera, the i consigliere /i of the opposing family sniffed, pushing dark glasses up his nose and shifting his great weight from foot to foot. In the middle of the draughty room was a battered round table, stout and impressive, where the two leaders sat in confidential negotiation. Tsuna's flame blazed strongly with a soft crackle, while the old, balding leader of the Nero family glared back from across the table, slumped in his chair and puffing a tapered cigar that was strong enough to make even Gokudera wince.

The Nero family was well-known, Tsuna had explained earnestly earlier that day, forgetting that his right-hand man was the one who carefully placed the documents on his desk, the one who had tried – with the many unnecessary diagrams and charts – to teach him mafia history, law, and current events. Not that it really mattered; Gokudera listened intently, eager to hear the businesslike words coming from his boss's mouth, to listen to his voice, barely registering the information that he'd already known for years.

The Neros, he remembered, had been one of the foremost branches of the mafia in East Asia. They had been in an alliance with their family in the past, but in recent times, their status was rapidly declining due to the constant presence of the Vongola family in Japan. Tensions were high, and much was going on in Italy. It was essential to keep them on their side, but Tsuna said he didn't have time for all the petty battles over funds, rings and power. When it was up to him, he said, he'd have a way to end it all.

Gokudera was glad of this. He too was getting tired of the daily visits. He tried his best not to let it show on his face. As the right hand man of the Tenth Vongola leader, he had a reputation to uphold. He was grateful though, for these short chances to be alone with the Tenth, away from the hustle and bustle of the Japanese headquarters - no matter how short and fleeting they were.

As the meeting ended and they walked down the winding staircase towards the door where the car was waiting, Tsuna stopped for a moment on the spiral staircase.

'Gokudera,' he said, softly 'There's another meeting next week. Will you come as my right-hand man again?'

Strains of old music played from a radio outside, and Gokudera gazed out of the small, slitted slivers of light in the stairwell beside him, taking in the expanse of the hazy rooftops. He would miss this place, if he left.

A stormy sky, he thought, how appropriate.

'Of course, Tenth!' He said, a cheerful smile plastered over his pained features, his hand on the letter in his pocket - 'When have I ever failed you?'

As the words left his lips, he knew he'd done just that.

The message had said 'as soon as possible'. A week wouldn't be soon enough. Knowing the promptness of his colleagues, a second note would be waiting for him on his desk this night, informing him of a flight booked for the very next day. His gaze dropped, evading Tsuna's. He couldn't have controlled the momentary lapse of concentration, the crack in his hard exterior.

Tsuna just smiled, a hint of sadness in his wide brown eyes.

They had stepped out onto the slick pavement where the car was waiting. The rain had stopped for a while, but the clouds were still as turbulent as before. No doubt it would storm again later. Gokudera had deftly moved to open the door for the tenth, but Tsuna grabbed his wrist and apologized to the driver.

'We'll take a walk back, Puzo-san,' he smiled earnestly, dragging Gokudera along with him, 'Thanks for the hard work!'

--

The light had started to fade by now, and the slumbering nightlife of Kabuki-cho began to stir fitfully. Slowly at first, and then with an explosion of light and colour and seedy bawdiness, like fireworks in a dark night sky. Touts beckoned from the brightly lighted bars and fetish cafes, passing out posters and business cards. They were all ignored, however, by the two Mafioso making their way through the brightly lit streets, reflections diffused through thin rain, threading their way through the exotic night-market with no goal that Gokudera's mind could decipher. There was only the gentle warmth of the tenth's hand as he led him along the familiar pathways, and the distinct feeling that something was wrong.

'Hey… Gokudera?' Tsuna said softly as they walked, hand in hand, but without eye contact. There was a tremble in his voice. 'Do you think I did the right thing back there? With Nero.'

'Of course, Tenth. Your judgement has lead to the success that the Vongola have been seeing so often now.'

Tsuna forced a smile at the diplomatic words and shook his head, 'I wasn't so sure,'

His steps had led the pair further and further from the common mafia hideouts, the neon-lighted pizzerias, bars and gambling parlours. The brightness of the pink signs made Gokudera's head hurt; the winding streets and passageways so like the labyrinth of the Palermo neighbourhoods. Thunder sounded in the distance, and the rain poured down on the two of them, soaking them both to the bone.

'Will you stay with me?' Tsuna asked, suddenly stopping, as if he'd haad enough. 'Always?'

'Wh..what?'

The seemingly ambiguous question, the cliché phrase, hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity as Tsuna waited for an answer, not quite oblivious to the secondary implications of his words.

'Will you?' He asked again, turning around, studying Gokudera's shocked gaze, his eyes determined. There was a trace of that intuition – the all-knowing intuition – of the Vongola leaders there in the deep brown jewels that reflected the insecurities, the shaken-out feelings buried deep in Gokudera's psyche. He shouldn't have been so stupid as to hide his intentions, his obligations, and that Tsuna too, knew. Knew everything.

'Did you think I wouldn't notice, Gokudera?' Tsuna said softly, deftly dipping his hand into Gokudera's pocket and pulling out the slip of paper that had been so carefully hidden, allowing the rain to splatter over it, obscuring the inked letters as they slid down the page into obscurity.

'Gokudera... why do you never say anything to me? You're always here, but you never do anything. Why won't you trust me? Weren't we… friends?'

There was silence as the river of feelings that gushed between them was exposed, the flood of emotion that swept everything else away. Gokudera remained speechless, guilty. He reproached himself in a million ways for his foolishness, for hiding not only that one small slip of paper, but for ending the simple friendship that they had both treasured by falling in love. For loving this boy, this man, the boss that stood in front of him, the one person he couldn't have, because... because it was all wrong, to develop such feelings for such a powerful leader, for the godfather.

'Do you remember that time, almost ten years ago, when you said you were going away because you'd had a promotion?' Tsuna asked, the old innocence, the old insecurities starting to creep back into his gaze, obscuring that all-knowing intuition. 'I nearly lost you then… I was proud of you, but I didn't want t lose you. I... I can't let that happen again. I need someone to tell me what I'm doing is right. I need to know that I haven't become what I've become for nothing.

Gokudera… why…'

Why do you leave me?

---

Epilogue

When Tsuna woke up, it was morning.

Gokudera had taken his hand, had taken him and led him up to the steps of that pink-lighted hotel at the end of the street. He'd started to cry, he remembered, he'd become no-good Tsuna again. The one who couldn't handle the decisions, the stresses of responsibility. The hotel wasn't much, Gokudera had said, and they got looks from the little man behind the counter, but it was getting late. They couldn't go back like this, not with the boss in such a state. Sure the next day questions would be asked, and then they could say… say they'd spent the night with friends in town. He wanted Tsuna to be comfortable, quiet, he'd sleep on the floor. Boss, boss, I'm sorry, he said, I'll make it up to you somehow.

But Tsuna didn't leave it like that. He'd pushed, he'd pulled, and he'd made Gokudera express his feelings in words and in actions. He'd said it was okay, he had wanted at least once, to see how Gokudera saw him, really, not as a boss, but as a person. And Gokudera was gentle, he remembered. He was gentle, and kind, and in the face of all the emotion that had rushed out in that one spell, they had shared something. It had gotten dark, and then it had gotten light, but Tsuna couldn't tell anymore. He'd started a chain of events, and it had gotten out of control.

Now, the sun was up and he was alone. The rain-drenched tear-stained note from yesterday lay abandoned in a gutter somewhere outside, melted into the pavement like the bloodstained leaves, the meaning of the words blown away to Palermo.

On the table, written on the pink stationary of the tacky hotel, were the words

'I'm sorry to change my mind; and I'm sorry for last night. But, when you return, boss, I'll be waiting'.