Photograph
The picture is cradled in his hands. The glass protecting it was broken when it was knocked off the side table. There's a big crack snaking across the familiar frame is nothing special-- black wood and plain glass, no distinguishing features. It shouldn't matter that it's broken.
It's the principle of the thing.
He runs his thumb across the crack, as if trying to gauge it's width. The glass can be replaced, he knows, but it's supposed to be protecting his most valuable possession. The photo is already a little worn, dog-eared and slightly creased from its journey across the country. Again, it's not so much the picture that matters-- it's what that picture represents. Youth, music, happiness. Love, in the most difficult sense. It's a simple photo, him just a few years younger with one arm wrapped around his closest friend's shoulder. They're both grinning, and completely unaware that there's even a camera present. It's the remains of a past that he misses.
"Is it broken?"
He's startled out of his reverie by a voice behind him. His companion, a mussed, half-asleep young man, sidles up next to him to investigate.
"I'm sorry, Tsuna, I didn't mean to..." the young man trails off with a sheepish grin, then sobers.
"It's fine," he says, even though it isn't. "Shit happens, right?" He dismisses any further remark with a shrug.
Uncomfortable silence reigns as the young man takes a seat on the couch and cranes his neck to examine the broken picture frame. "Who is she?"
"Was," Gokudera says instantly, not taking his eyes off the picture. "Past tense."
The young man rolls his eyes. "Was, then. Who was she?"
Gokudera stays quiet for a minute, staring tight-lipped at the photograph. His eyes are brighter than usual-- unshed tears will do that. It feels like someone's squeezing his throat closed, and his heart feels hollow. He hangs his head and loosens his hold on the picture frame. "There aren't words," Gokudera manages. His voice doesn't crack, even though he feels like it should. "There never were."
The young man looks worried-- he hasn't seen this before. Normally it's all smiles and laughs and stupid inside jokes. This feels wrong.
He snakes an arm around Gokudera's waist in a tentative attempt to soothe him.
Gokudera shakes his head and slides the photograph face-down onto the coffee table. "It doesn't matter now," he mutters bitterly. He pulls out of the young man's hold and stalks out the door to find somewhere quiet to brood.
"Hayato..." the young man says softly, but he doesn't stand until well after his friend (lover? Things are complicated between them) is gone. When he does get up, he heads straight out the door-- he has a picture frame to replace.