They were never separate entities; they were two merged souls from the start.

He couldn't feel his fingers; he couldn't control them, his entire arm. His vision; it was all but a mesh of colours, fogged up by his tears, by his fears, by his powerlessness, as his numbing hands shook violently, barely keeping the rifle in place.

"Quick Gokudera... Don't hesitate," the man kneeled down in humiliation in front of him urged. Despite the bullet wounds and deep gashing cuts, despite his increasing vulnerability, despite the breathlessness, his voice remained powerful and rich. "This... is duty." Was that resentment in the words?

I know, damn it. But Gokudera didn't display the realisation on his face. There were a bombardment of thoughts pounding furiously inside his head. His body, however, stayed as quivering as it was, seemingly at the precipice of being ripped apart by two opposing forces. He was prepared, wasn't he? Since the start.

He wasn't; he couldn't.

Perhaps he had been too full of himself, had been too complacent, and underestimated the enemy. It was supposed to be an easy task; to infiltrate the rival family's base, and rescue all the hostages. They had done these countless times, such missions could effortlessly be completed with time to spare for skilled warriors like them.

What was it, that went terribly wrong?

Victory was on their side, as they sliced the enemies into halves, and let explosives tear their bodies apart, almost anihilating the entire clan. They arrived at the boss's room without difficulties, ready to waste a few more bullets and call it a day.

They kicked the bloodied door open, and brandished the dynamites, guns and sword.

The sword and the floor met, when they saw the hostage in the enemy's hands.

The sight of an almost-lifeless Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, hung limply and precariously by the grasp on the back of his skull, greeted them.

Gokudera, understanding his partner's unsteady mental state, swiped down his arms to fire up the dynamites.

At the command of the inhumane boss, the subordinates swiftly shoved the merciless barrel onto the hostage's temple. Yamamoto took a step forward and shouted; Gokudera halted and snarled at the men.

They were at the whims and fancies of the damned bastard. They were stripped of their dignity, utterly demeaned when they were forced to drop their weapons, rings and boxes, and then promptly being punched, kicked and pummelled by the enraged members of the clan who were getting their revenge for their family.

They could do nothing. They had no way of informing the Vongola headquarters, and they hadn't been away long enough to raise an alarm back there. Shit. If they hadn't held his father hostage, they would've slaughtered all of these useless crap by now. They could only continue biting back their pride, as they were being tossed around like trash, letting injuries and scars form.

But it wasn't enough for the boss, whose family had to suffer decades of shame brought about by the Vongola clan when they defeated them time and again. He wanted to pay back the degration.

The Italian gun slid across the crimson-stained carpet. "Shoot him," he ordered. "Shoot the son in front of his father. Shoot your partner with your own gun."

Gokudera was prepared to throw a riot. But a strong hand grabbed him. The honey-tinted eyes pierced with unwavering resolution into him. "Do it, Gokudera. We need to save the hostages," he pleaded.

"That's the mission."

He had convinced himself already, so what was stopping him now? Damn it, just pull the fucking trigger and get this over and done with. The idiot's prepared for this, and was willing. Quick, before Yamamoto change his mind, before Yamamoto Tsuyoshi wakes up, before the jagged fangs shredding away his flesh completely consume him.

Just shoot, fuck it.

But every time his muscles tensed up and got ready to move, something inside him explodes and paralyses him. They were reminders; telling him that the man in front of him was his partner, his best friend, his lover.

Goddamn it. Fuck emotions.

His eyes remained fixated on Yamamoto, and the barrel was pointed at his forehead, shaking very unsteadily. It was like a nightmare. It was what he hoped against hope to never happen. It was reality's way of mocking him. Yamamoto was yelling at him; something the gentle Rain Guardian had never done before. Hysteria and mania gnawed at his bones, making every part of his body tremble with madness dripping off. He was so torn between what to do, the only thing he could do was to let moisture cloud his eyes.

"Don't hesitate, Gokudera!"

His gaze.

"It's part of the job, remember?"

His joy.

"Hurry up!"

His smile.

"Just shoot...!"

His laughter.

"GOKUDERA!!!"

Something from the darkness stretched out and sunk its nails into his soul, wrenching him down until his head smashed onto the ground. He couldn't fight back in time.

Bang!

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi had woken up. Blood splattered onto Gokudera's face. The lifeless body fell.

He... killed Yamamoto Takeshi.

Gokudera slumped forward, his weak arms barely supporting him. Tears gushed out and flooded the floor that reeked of blood. Rinsing away the blood stains that burned his skin, rinsing away the encumbrance that had been weighing down on him, rinsing away the haunting guilt hooked onto him... One of his arm gave way, as he sank his hot tear-stained face into his arm, his other fist clutching frantically at the floor. This was what he prepared for... wasn't it? Nightmares.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi's mouth hung agape, bouts of chilling shiver striking on his spine. T-That's right. He must be getting old. His eyes are failing him. It would be impossible for his son to die! A faltered smile tugged at the ends of his lips. This must be all a dream. Hey wake up old man, quit napping. It's time to get to work. Takeshi's waiting for you to make him dinner you know? He's finally gotten a vacation off from work today, he said he wanted a feast to celebrate!

But Yamamoto remained in his deep slumber.

Gokudera never displayed any hints of weakness in front of Tsuna. It was only that day. He made an exception for only that day. Tsuna didn't say anything either, only kept silent and let his Right Hand Man weep.

A heavy and gloomy atmosphere loomed in the Vongola Mansion. Everyone retreated to their respective places after all the neccessary work were done, albeit in a sluggish manner. Everybody still couldn't accept the fact that the Rain Guardian, the born assassin, Yamamoto Takeshi, disappeared from their lives just like that. They couldn't help blaming themselves for what happened.

If only Tsuna sensed something amiss earlier. If only Ryohei fought harder. If only Lambo had been stronger. If only Chrome ran faster. Even Hibari who collectedly overlooked the retrieval of Yamamoto's body, wished he had been more strict with the herbivores' training.

But everyone agreed that they did not deserve to indulge in self-pity, because the one who took it the hardest was undoubtedly Gokudera. When they arrived at the enemy base, they saw the sorrow-stricken Italian, letting fragility show. Nobody said anything, and just focused their minds on defeating the hellish boss, for the sake of Yamamoto and Gokudera.

Gokudera didn't care either, he wasn't even aware of the back up who came too late to his aid. All he could register, was that the centre of his life, was gone.

For the countless days, he locked himself up in the room, refusing to eat, or even move for the matter. He stopped crying long ago; all his tears were used up.

Even staying in the room and keeping his sanity was almost impossible. Every inch and corner of his room was engraved with with Yamamoto's scent. Everywhere he turned he was torturously reminded of the swordsman he had to start forgetting, and then, fresh doses of pain would crash into him, letting despair slowly devour him.

But he had only himself to blame. He knew since making up his mind to be a mafia he walked alone. Any feelings associated would be useless, and a complete hindrance. All he needed would only be loyalty to the clan. He knew all these when he found himself noticing the teenage raver-haired boy more; he knew all these when he accepted his confession; he knew all these when he fell in love with him.

Both of them had to suffer as a result of their naivety. They turned into each other's murderers.

Yamamoto died when Gokudera shattered his skull,

and Gokudera's heart died along with him.

Gokudera didn't go to the funeral. He didn't dare to, he didn't want to. He didn't know how to face his father, who had witnessed with his own eyes how he killed his son. He didn't know if he could restrain himself from falling apart when he see his body. He didn't know if those tormenting memories would lance through him again like that day.

Everyone else had attended the funeral, so the mansion was desolated, empty and dead. There was only Gokudera, and the remnants of Yamamoto's existance.

Ten years on, Gokudera worked to become the most adroit mafia and most fearful right hand man in the circuit. He was a power to be reckoned with, and one of the key driving forces that propelled Vongola into even greater heights. Ten years on, he led a good life.

He was feared for his cruelty and cold-bloodedness in his killing methods, exterminating indiscriminately, leaving no gaps for any chances. The Tenth's life is important, and he would resort to anything to prevent anyone from leaving even a scrape on him.

He wasn't the weak and helpless little brat from last time. He had changed; he had discarded all his emotions, and left only one aim in life: to protect the Tenth, and the famiglia. Anything else that has nothing to do with those are not worthy of his attention. He fell trap to normal people's evitable dangers before, but he has gotten wiser now.

But he had also set up barricades around him. Nobody else could get to him, and nobody else could haul him up from the descent into the abyss.

He didn't know the logic behind the mission this time, but he took it on with no question. It was an order from Tsuna; to return to Namimori, and deliver parcels to the Sawada residence. Gokudera completed the job quite smoothly.

The flight they booked for him wouldn't come until at least two hours later. So he had some time on his hands to kill. He strolled past the park, loitered around Namimori High, and returned to glance at his old apartment. But he concluded that it was all too dangerous; nostalgia was undesirably creeping back into him, and so were memories. Memories are something a mafiosso never, ever needs.

So Gokudera took a random route he didn't recognise. It was a narrow stretch of desolated road, with almost no cars or people. The trees lining up by the side were neatly trimmed and kept, although they appeared to be on the edge of wilting.

He followed the steps up the small hill, and finally noticed the slabs of tombstones sticking out from the nourished-looking grass. He had ventured into the Namimori graveyard.

This was where Yamamoto was buried.

A crease between his eyebrows formed, as he swallowed his rationality.

Just for today. Cave in just for today.

Tsuna and the other guardians had been visiting their comrade's grave yearly if their jobs allow. But they had never invited Gokudera, they knew what the answer would be anyway. Gokudera had never been to the place where his lover's fragments lay.

When he finally found the section where Yamamoto's remains might be located, he noticed a lone figure sitting in front of a classy-black tomb. He strode over, and halted in his tracks.

That was another reason he didn't want to visit Yamamoto's grave. He feared meeting his father.

The old man seemed to have realised the bomber's arrival, and flashed a look of surprise on his face, before breaking out into a wide grin; something Yamamoto inherited. "Hey, aren't you Takeshi's Italian friend?" he called out, waving.

Gokudera was apprehensive. Logic told him to turn heels and walk away, pretending he didn't know him; but his irrationality shoved him towards the man he could never face. "U-Uncle," he bowed, hoping to sound polite to atone for his past mistake, although he comprehended full well that was just ambitious thinking on his part.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi just waved his hand and motioned for him to sit down with him. In front of him laid a simple spread of Japanese cuisine: sushi, onigiri, omelette, Namimori milk, anpan... All those, Gokudera remembered, were Yamamoto's favourite.

He walked over, observing the cold, sharp tombstone with the words 'Yamamoto Takeshi' engraved in gold letters. Seeing those words alone were enough to stab at his chest, he silently wondered how much longer can he endure before being dismembered cruelly like this. Self-consciously, he sat down across Yamamoto Tsuyoshi.

Their conversation had been out of Gokudera's expectations. There was no mention of Yamamoto at all, much to his relief. But noting how Yamamoto's father seemed to still be so lively and animated, Gokudera secretly felt a little reassured. However, the man was visibly aged, with more wrinkles carved onto his otherwise youthful face, and his hair was several shades greyer. His eyes, too, lost the glow they used to hold.

"How're you guys doing without Takeshi around? Still coping well?" Yamamoto Tsuyoshi enquired quite suddenly.

Gokudera was taken aback. Struggling for an answer, he blurted, "Y-Yes. We are fine. What about you?" He knew it would be best if he didn't ask this, but he had nothing else to say, and so settled for whatever came to him. Perhaps, this was his subconcious's doings.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi's smile softened, and his gaze fell onto the tombstone, gazing at it longingly as if waiting for something to return. "Life's been hard," he confessed, with a tone of anguish in his voice. "It's been lonely here without Takeshi. The house's so empty now. At least when that boy was in Italy I know he's safe and well, that's why the house isn't so void then. But now, the house's really very empty; it's just me alone. The only thing that's keeping me distracted is Takesushi. Without my restaurant, I really don't know what I would have done to see that boy again." The smile on his lips was hollow.

Gokudera dug his fingers into his thighs, and bit on his lips so hard it bled. These physical mutilation weren't half as unbearable as the guilt and remorse that flooded his insides again. Shit, it was a bad idea to make exceptions after all.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi forced a mock snigger, commenting, "Looks like I'm just not fated to have a family huh? First my wife, and now my son. Heaven's really evil, don't you think?" His eyes glimmered with the fog that was forming. "Life now is still livable, and I'm trying my best to live each day as it passes."

He had to do it, he had to. Even if it didn't make him feel any better, even if he will never be forgiven, he needed to do it. It's the only right thing to do. "I'm sorry!" Gokudera bursted, and immediately gave an acute bow. "I'm very sorry, Uncle. I'm very sorry for all the distress I've caused you! It is my fault that you got kidnapped and held hostage and mistreated, and it is also my fault that I wasn't strong enough to protect you and Yamamoto, and it is also my fault that we walked into the enemy's trap." Gokudera gulped. "A-And it is also my fault that Yamamoto had to be k-k-k..." He couldn't bring himself to utter the final syllable. The memories he thought he had safely locked away exploded and clawed at the walls of his skull faster than he could talk. The pain, the agony, the mania, the helplessness, the melancholy, the remorse... Those overwhelming emotions frantically devoured him again. "I'm so... so... very sorry..." His words were weak and hardly audible.

A withered hand gave his quivering shoulders a firm squeeze. Gokudera feebly looked up with shame.

"Hey," Yamamoto Tsuyoshi started, his voice soothing and tranquil. "It isn't anyone's fault entirely. It's Takeshi's fault too. He made the same mistakes you made, so he had to share the blame with you too, you know? But he has already corrected his mistake, although he had to pay a big price. So he's free and now happy. But you have not corrected yours."

Gokudera's eyes darted away, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

"So lad, you have to correct your mistake. By living your life along with his. His life was cut short, so the remaining parts of his life has been handed down to you. You cannot waste that part of your life as well, understand?" Yamamoto Tsuyoshi continued. "Like what I said, it was very painful, and I was extremely depressed at first. But then, I realised that Takeshi has given his life up for me, and this is in fact his life too." He patted at his heart. "So I started to look towards everyday with a smile, just the way that boy did when he wakes up everyday, be it a school day or a weekend. It's a bit hard at first, and ten years on I'm still trying to smile like him. But I believe it's possible. So now it's your turn. Maybe you haven't realised it, but

Takeshi is inside you. You two are never separated from the start."

With apprehensive hands, Gokudera surveyed the brass door knob of the room in the Vongola mansion. He took in one breath, and twisted open the knob.

The cold, unfeeling furniture of Yamamoto's bedroom glared at him. Fear started to seep in again. He comtemplated backing out.

Don't be afraid, Hayato. I'm still here.

The voice muted for ten years finally spoke. Gokudera, responding as though he had heard it since forever, nodded bravely, and threw another look at the room. As if instantly, the walls and furniture wasn't so chilling and paralysed now. Everything in the room had a mist of serenity enshrouding them.

Gokudera strolled over to the bed, and sank his bottom onto the soft mattress. He missed the feeling. He ran his unsteady fingers over the untouched bed, collecting every shards of memories that remained. The aroma of Yamamoto drifted into his senses; it was still as faint and alluring as ever. It was his magic potion; he remembered everything clearly, and finally, there was no more pain.

When they first met. He distinctly recalled being irked by the sight of the idiotic grin on his face. When they first talked. It was a conversation consisting of less than ten words. When they first accidentally touched. The electric sparks are still alive in him. When he first caught him stealing glances at him. He was so pleased. When he confessed. It had been a wild day. When they first went on a date. It was clumsy and unorganised and unplanned and inexperienced, it was a terrible date, even though he enjoyed it. When they first hugged. It felt... good. When they first kissed. It was a wet, almost breathtaking one, he didn't know it was possible to stop breathing for so long. When they first had sex. It was scary, and excruciating, and he got a full glimpse of the baseball idiot's lustful side, thirsting for Gokudera's body, and running passionate marks all over each other's body.

Gokudera felt an invisible arm wrap around him from the back, spreading warmth from his chest to his toes.

Hayato, you finally remembered. I'm so happy. The hushed words whispered into his ear. Let's not leave each other again okay?

Gokudera felt a small sliver of moan escape his throat as his ear was being ticklishly nibbled on. The pummeling jolts of electricity bolting through his body quickly found all the emotions he had rendered useless, and immediately refilled the voidness in the cavern in his heart with warmth again.

Their souls intertwined in the surreal cradle.

A/N: I can't believe it. I can't believe I went against my principles and moral beliefs and killed Yamamoto, and typed a fanfic when my major exam is in less than a month's time! Urrgh I hate my weak resolution.

So! This is a first attempt at drabble and, I don't know, could it be counted as angst? XD I hope me being drowsy and having wrote this from 12 a.m. to 5 a.m. would make for an excuse for it being an epic failure. XP

Sa, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys like it! :D