Disclaimer: The world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters are not mine.

A/N: Happy All Souls' Day. Several years ago, I wrote this story for the anniversary of a group I was a staff member of. I reread this piece recently and found that I quite liked it.

Possession

The coffee shop that was tucked away in the forgotten corner of the town was a relic of the past: mahogany furniture, replicas of old gas lamps, stained glass window, and a tarnished gramophone to complete the ensemble. With light jazz music playing in the background, Sawada Tsunayoshi felt as though he was transported to another era. In short, it was not the kind of place he would expect to find one Rokudo Mukuro—unless he was here to meet a ghost.

Lost in thought, he looked out the window and watched the rain come down in torrents. Unconsciously he touched the earrings on his left ear: a silver ear cuff and two stub earrings, gifts from a certain illusionist. His ear piercings were also that man's handiwork, the only other memento he had of Mukuro. Most of Mukuro's belongings were destroyed in a house fire after the man completely wiped out one of Vongola's allies; the timing was so perfect that it could not possibly be a coincidence.

"I'm sorry." The illusionist had been smiling when Tsuna confronted him on the rooftop of the office tower owned by the Neo Vongola Primo. "Peace doesn't suit me. There is no place for me in the gentle, peaceful world you are striving for." With a gloved hand he cupped Tsuna's face for a beat before letting go. "Goodbye, Sawada Tsunayoshi." Those were his last words before he took the leap over the railings like a fearless fledgling.

The body was found on the sidewalk below the tower, broken and crushed beyond repair. The former Mist Guardian was later laid to rest in a quiet cemetery in the southern Italian countryside. Tsuna did not know if the illusionist had transferred his soul to another vessel before his death; he did not even know if the body buried beneath the granite tombstone was truly Mukuro's.

A year and a half had passed since then. There had been no news, no late night phone call from an undisclosed caller, no mysterious gifts from a mysterious admirer, and no encounter with strangers who were no strangers at all. Perhaps that man really did die on that night; perhaps Tsuna was simply in denial. It was time to give up and move on—or so he thought.

The ringing of the bell jolted Tsuna out of his musing. A dark-haired young man full of smile had entered the shop, the umbrella in his hand dripping puddles on the floor. He put the umbrella in the wooden rack by the entrance, exchanged pleasantry with the old barista behind the counter, and disappeared into the back of the shop. He came back several minutes later in a uniform similar to the barista's: white shirt, black tie, black trousers and black apron. After a brief exchange with the young man, the old barista left the shop in a hurry; the bell at the door chimed in his wake.

Tsuna finished his caffè-latte and ordered a second cup. "Right away, sir." The server, smiling amiably, took away the empty cup and went behind the counter. As Tsuna watched the lad work his magic like a seasoned barista, he touched his earrings again.

Mukuro was the one who had introduced him to caffè-latte, since espresso was too strong and bitter for his palate. For someone who had sworn an undying devotion to all things chocolate, Mukuro's taste leant towards the bitter end of the spectrum, preferring dark chocolate and espresso over their more mellow counterparts. He was always that way: a heap of contradictions and ironies to the very end.

At length, the server brought Tsuna a fresh cup on a wooden tray, along with a biscotto on the side. His head was slightly tilted, revealing a set of glittering earrings on his left ear: a silver cuff and two jewelled stubs. "Your caffè-latte, sir. Please take your time and enjoy."

"Mukuro."

Time did not stand still for Tsuna; instead, his heartbeat quickened as he observed the young man, whose pleasant smile did not falter, and whose right eye did not transform into a blood red orb. "My name isn't Mukuro," the server said quietly.

Tsuna's stomach gave a lurch as if he had missed a step on the stairs. Recalling those torturous months of forlorn hope and crippling grief and much desperation, he took a deep breath. "What's your name?"

"Hitsugi. Mudou Hitsugi." The illusionist had a morbid sense of humour when it came to names—if the young barista was indeed the ghost of one Rokudo Mukuro.

Giving himself time to calm his nerves, Tsuna sipped his latte, the flavour of which brought back too many memories. Once, while he was drinking the coffee Mukuro had made, Mukuro mentioned Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time. There was a famous scene in the novel, where the narrator recalled a long forgotten incident in his childhood after tasting a madeleine dipped in tea. Afterwards, Tsuna tried to read the book, but he never finished it; the man who had mentioned the book in the first place was not there anymore.

Anger and resentment bubbled inside Tsuna like the witches' brew, threatening to spill over. "Do you like working here?" he asked in a deliberately mild tone while surveying the interior of the coffee shop.

Looking bemused, the young barista nevertheless kept up a friendly if polite front. "Yes, it's a nice place. And the coffee is great. That's one of the reasons I decided to work here."

"I'm sure you've learnt a lot." The passing remark brought a bright smile to the young barista's face, and Tsuna could not help feeling guilty about his own insincerity. Imitating the narrator in Proust's novel, he dipped the biscotto in the coffee and took a bite. Nothing came to him.

"Will that be all, sir?" the young man asked, and Tsuna had no choice but to let him go.

Once he had finished the biscotto and the coffee, he had no more excuses to stay. The rain continued to fall, shrouding the metropolis in a veil of mist. "I'll come again," he told the young barista, who walked him to the door.

"Please do. We shall await your return." The barista bowed before handing an umbrella to Tsuna, their fingers brushing for one fleeting moment. "Please take care on your way back."

When he gazed at the lad's face, so full of life and the promise of youth, the head of the Vongola family could feel every one of his thirty five years of life creeping up on him. Perhaps he was tired after all, as Mukuro had sometimes pointed out to him in one of those rare, quiet moments when they shared a bed.

There were many questions he wanted to ask, but the man—schemer, liar and something more—would not give him a chance to do so.

Mukuro had said his farewell, but Tsuna could not bear the thought of it. In the end, he said, "See you later, Mudou-kun." With that he stepped out of the haven forgotten in the flow of time, and returned to the cold, wet reality of Shibuya, clutching the handle of the umbrella as if clutching a certain someone's hand.

Finis.

A/N: The name Hitsugi means "coffin". Mudou means "amoral", but if you split the two kanji apart, the two kanji characters can be read as "nothing" and "path" respectively. Thank you very much for reading.